


Dimensional Realities

by xLucyInTheSkyx



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Angst, F/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-29
Updated: 2019-04-24
Packaged: 2019-04-29 17:33:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 20
Words: 86,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14477730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xLucyInTheSkyx/pseuds/xLucyInTheSkyx
Summary: Set in Season 9. A mysterious girl from another realm where Supernatural is just a TV show appears in the middle of a street in Kansas and almost gets run over by the Impala. Who is this girl and how will she affect the boys and their quest to send the angels back to Heaven? Rated T for language.





	1. Followed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I can get ten reviews on this chapter I'll post the next chapter! Tell me what you think, what you like, what you don't like, what needs work, etc. etc.

It was snowing. Cold, wet, flaky, snow. There was something about the cool grey dimness of a snowy day that put me on edge. It made me look over my shoulder to check for shadows. It made me listen for footsteps that weren't there, not really.

I couldn't concentrate on anything.

Definitely not the homework that I had left unfinished until the day before it was due. I just wanted to curl up with my laptop and watch Netflix. I just wanted to forget about the world and my life. But right now I needed to finish my history paper.

"Avery!"

I sighed and glanced at the clock on my vanity. It was five thirty. Which meant it was time for my meds.

I got up and stretched. My back was sore from sitting in my hard wooden desk chair for so long. I glanced back at my laptop to check my progress on the essay. Much like my motivation, my essay was, well, nonexistent. I sighed again and climbed down the stairs to my kitchen. My mother had recently painted it a startling scarlet red. She'd read in some book that the color red made people hungry which is why big fast food chains liked using red in their color scheme.

Red didn't make me hungry; it just reminded me of blood.

"Hi sweetie," My mom smiled softly. She had long brown hair and grey eyes. Her round face was open, and her lips were full. I loved my mom, I did really, but she worried too much. She worried too much about me, and it made her sick.

"Here you go." She handed me a pillbox with five little compartments. I sighed at the myriad of tiny colored tablets tiredly. I took my pills carefully, and after each new medication, I showed my mother that I had indeed swallowed them.

I hated taking my medication. It made me feel fuzzy, slow, and yet hyper and jittery at the same time.

"How was school today?" She asked as I washed down my next set of pills.

"Fine, fine," I muttered.

"No… incidents?"

I pursed my lips. "No." She checked under my tongue. I was notorious for hiding my pills under my tongue.

"Have the voices gone away?" Mom asked, almost hopefully. But she knew better than to hope. Things like this didn't just go away. Schizophrenia didn't just go away no matter how many pills you took. It lingers, it always lingers.

"No." I washed down the last of my pills, and my mother ran her fingers through my long blonde hair. It almost reached the small of my back, and I wondered if I should cut it.

"That's alright sweetie; you know what the doctor said. We'll fight this. Day by day." My mother smiled again. I had always loved my mother's smile; it always made her look so free. I didn't have a smile like her's. I looked too much like my father. My mother cared too much, and my father didn't care enough.

"Day by day." I echoed. That was our motto. If I could just make it to tomorrow, everything would work out. The thing was that tomorrow never came. Sometimes I would sit up until midnight waiting for tomorrow. At eleven fifty-nine my heart would beat loudly in my chest. I would be right there, on the brink of tomorrow but as soon as the clock struck twelve, I wilted. Tomorrow never came. It was just today. It was always today and never tomorrow.

My mom asked me if I was hungry, I shrugged. "I have to finish an essay." So I went to finish my essay. And I did. After that, I got ready for bed and waited for tomorrow, but deep down I knew I shouldn't hope. It was foolish to hope. And I knew tomorrow would always be just out of reach.

* * *

 

The bell rang signaling that the period was over. Dr. Hall reminded us of a chapter test on Friday as we packed our books away in our bags. I pulled my coat on and tied my blue scarf around my neck. The snow had been washed away by rain earlier that morning, but it wasn't any less chilly. When I stepped out to meet Lucy, I could see my breath billow out in front of me.

"C'mon darling," She drawled when she spotted me from over her book.

"I'm coming." I trudged over to her VW Passat. Lucy Anderson was an old friend of my family. She had come to the states from England to attend Johns Hopkins medical school and was staying with one of her relatives here in New London before moving to her dorms.

She snapped her book shut and climbed into her car, I followed soon after. Lucy turned on her stereo, and soft classical music played through the speakers. She would later tell me that it was one of Chopin's Nocturnes, one of her favorites. The twinkling sounds of piano lulled me after the long day, and I felt myself drifting asleep.

I hated falling asleep.

The veil that kept my reality safely away from the deepest corners of my mind always seemed to wane and let little horrors slip through. One time it was a massive spider in its forest den surrounded by its spawn and another time it was a killer clown with blood dripping off of its lips.

This time was no different. I was in an abandoned warehouse filled with forgotten scaffolding and rusted chains hanging from the ceiling. I was alone, but I felt wild and rabid. Like I had been chased by someone or something for a long time, and it was finally closing in.

I had dried blood staining my arms up to my elbows, and a steel knife dipped in ruby red in my left hand. Had I killed someone?

Maybe.

I walked through the cavernous room slowly. My eyes darting to every corner, every crevice in which someone could hide. I collided with a wall that was quite invisible and yet very much solid. It burned me like I had been standing in the sun for too long.

Being trapped frightened me, but it also made me angry; so angry that I growled.

That's when the laughing began. It bounced off the walls taunting me. The panic began to set in, and my breaths turned shallow. I felt like no matter how deep a breath I took; I couldn't capture any oxygen.

A man appeared from the shadows. His eyes were tinged unnaturally red and didn't seem to have any pupils; they were all sclera. The worst thing about this man was his face. It was twisted and deformed and seemed like it was made of chalky black ash.

"Look what I caught." He sang mockingly. His eyes flicked to the ceiling, and I followed his gaze. Many feet above us, drawn on the ceiling, there was a strange red circle. I couldn't quite make out the markings, but it was vaguely familiar. I felt as if I had seen it before, but I couldn't place where.

"Boss is going to be real pleased when he hears I caught Avery Jackson." His eyes glinted evilly. "The reward will be unbelievable." He laughed.

"Go to hell." I hissed.

"Oh don't worry, I will." He promised. "But you're coming with me." He grinned showing me a row of jagged teeth.

The ground beneath me jerked, and I gasped awake. I was still in the car with Lucy; we'd just gone over a pothole.

"You alright there?" Lucy asked. I nodded and swallowed thickly.

"Fine, I'm fine," I whispered. Lucy dropped me off on my street, and I thanked her. I pulled my coat more firmly around me and pressed on. My house was a large Victorian affair hidden deep in the woods; neatly spaced birch trees lined the long winding driveway. They were bare now and reminded me of skeletal hands reaching out of the ground.

I walked along silently when I stopped. I thought that I had heard something…footsteps. I turned around and found that I was still alone. I took a deep breath and kept walking.

I stopped. There it was again. I peered into the now darkening forest, searching for movement. I was just paranoid.

"Hello?" I called out.

Nothing.

I gritted my teeth. "Stop acting like a paranoid freak." I hissed at myself. I kept walking, determined not to let my… condition get the better of me. I finally made it to my front door, but it was ajar. All the lights were off in my house. It seemed, empty. Which was strange. My mother should have been home by now.

I walked through the entryway hesitantly. Nothing seemed out of place. I walked through the kitchen; there was a pan on the burner filled with cubes of steak and vegetables. The stove was off, but the food was still hot. There was a glass of wine on the island.

"Mom?" No one answered. I climbed up the stairs and checked each room one by one. They were all empty until I reached my parent's bedroom. The second I walked in I was hit with the metallic scent of blood.

I gagged on the stench and quickly covered my nose and mouth with my sleeve. I dared to venture further into the room only to find that there was no source of the stench. I checked the bathroom and the closet, but there was nothing there. No one was there.

I walked back to the bedroom where the stench was the strongest and looked around. What was going on?

_Drip Drip_

I wiped at my nose, blood. I looked up slowly my heart pounding in my chest.

"Mom?"

Her corpse detached from the ceiling and fell towards me. I was too shocked to move and avoid her. Her skull cracked against mine and blood spilled from my cut temple and into my eyes. Her limp form knocked me over. I was lying there stunned by the blow, but it wasn't long before I began to hyperventilate. This couldn't be happening. It had to be a hallucination; it had to be.

I rolled my mother off of me and promptly threw up. The sobbing came soon after. It was a horrible hiccuping weeping, the kind you never saw in a movie because of how unattractive it looked. I dry heaved one last time before the tears stopped and I became numb.

What happened here?

I stared at my mother's corpse while I rocked back and forth. What was I going to do without her? Who had done this? I stopped when I saw that, in her tightly closed fist, there was a slip of what looked like paper. I shuffled towards her on my knees and willed myself to pry open her cold dead fingers. I managed to pull it out of her hand, and I scuttled away as soon as I had.

I spread out the crumpled piece of paper and stared at it.

**_Run. She's coming._ **

My heart thudded in my chest wildly. Mom had known who her attacker was. Mom was telling me to run. I got up and rushed to my closet.

Many years ago when things between my mom and dad had become violent, my mother made me a go-bag. It was a black duffel bag filled with cash, a first aid kit, a gun with ammo, a knife, and spare clothes for any environment. She was convinced that at some point I was going to have to make a run for it.

Since we didn't have any other living family to turn to if things went south, she wanted to make sure I was ready to leave if anything ever happened. I didn't understand for a long time. Why couldn't I just call the cops? I would ask her.

Mom never had much confidence in the police.

But tensions died down between my parents and the go-bag became obsolete. It had lived at the back of my closet for a little more than five years now. I never got rid of it just in case. When I think about it, I've realized how horribly irresponsible my mother was, allowing a diagnosed paranoid schizophrenic easy access to a gun and a knife. It mystified me, why would my mother take so much care to keep me safe. Make sure that I've taken my meds, check on me constantly, and yet allow me access to very dangerous weapons? It didn't make sense.

But then again, nothing made sense. Not today.

For the next five minutes, I sprinted around the house grabbing anything I might need, any toiletries, food, my wallet, a cellphone, and my laptop. I was zipping the duffel bag shut when I heard a crash from downstairs. I froze when I heard faint mumbling floating up from the kitchen. I took a shaky breath and pulled out the nine-millimeter handgun my mother had left for me. I decided last second to stick the knife through the belt loops in my jeans.

"The Queen said she'd be here by now." I heard a gruff male voice complain; there was another clatter. I heard the burner click on and the hiss of gas filling the air. What was he doing?

"Stop whining." Another growled; she was female. "You're giving me a headache."

"As soon as she gets here, we grab her and go. I'm sick of this place." The man said as I stepped out onto the landing. That was my first mistake. This was an old Victorian with all the original floorboards, squeaky floorboards; the kind that made all sorts of noise if you stepped on them right.

All movement stopped for a second, and I held my breath.

"Avery, sweetie." A voice called softly, and my muscles froze in fear. "Come out, come out wherever you are." I naturally went for the first refuge any fifteen-year-old girl would go to. The closet.

I heard their lumbering steps thunder through the house as they rushed up the stairs. My fresh tears mingled with the blood that dried to my face, and I struggled to keep my gasping sobs silent. They banged around upstairs yanking open doors and slamming them shut when they didn't find me. I knew it was a matter of time before they did so I cocked the gun and waited for the inevitable.

A shadow appeared through the sliver of light that leaked from the bottom of the closet door. My finger was heavy on the trigger as I watched the knob turn.

_Bang! Bang! Bang!_

It was the man. He went down, and I launched myself forward grabbing the duffel firmly as I ran for dear life. I wasn't even down half the stairs before I felt someone give me a vicious shove and I tumbled down smacking my forehead against the wall and landing awkwardly on my side. I thought I might've broken a rib. Every breath of air felt as if I was pouring acid into my lungs.

I had dropped both the gun and my duffel on the way down. They were now about four feet from where I had landed. The kitchen reeked of propane which only made it that much more difficult to breathe. I tried crawling towards my discarded weapon, but my progress was interrupted when a small feminine hand pulled me up by the collar.

"You little bitch." She hissed. "You killed Joey." Her right hook was staggeringly strong. Too strong. My mouth filled with blood and my jaw ached from where her fist connected with it. She picked me up again and pinned me to the wall by my throat. I choked and gasped around the blood and struggled with the knife in my belt loop.

"I don't care why the Queen wants you. I'll make you pay." She smiled darkly. The woman's smile turned from sadistic to shocked in the matter of seconds it took for me to plunge my knife into her heart. I pulled the knife out, and blood spurted over my chest soaking through my coat. Her hand went slack, and she collapsed.

I dropped the knife and threw up for the third time that day.

Two people, I had just killed two people.

I wiped the bile away from my lips dazed and staggered over to my duffel bag. I swung it over my shoulder awkwardly and tucked the gun into my waistband. The bag seemed infinitely heavier with a busted rib, and every breath was agony. I had taken only two steps out of the house when I heard more voices laughing and jeering in the distance. They were coming up the driveway, quickly.

I ran as best as I could into the forest surrounding my house but my progress was slow, and they were gaining on me. I was about twenty feet into the forest when my house exploded with flame. The force of the explosion sent me hurtling through the air. This time I landed on my left arm, and I felt my ulna snap under my weight.

My scream of agony was dwarfed by the thundering roar of my burning house. Rubble and pieces of burning wood had sprayed over me during the explosion. My pant leg was torn, and my coat was singed. Burns crisscrossed over my hands, and a long burn stretched over my cheek from my neck.

I picked myself up when I heard the voices approaching through the red light of the fire. I wept hysterically as I pushed through the foliage. I had to focus all of my willpower to keep moving forward and not let the panic lock up my muscles.

Hours passed, and the forest was soon pitch black. The voices had faded long ago while I was stumbling through the brambles and weeds, which snagged around my ankles and caused me to trip every once in awhile. My head swam and throbbed. The trees seemed to spin, and the world listed unnaturally.

Another half hour passed, and I started to see lights through the trees. Fifteen minutes later I started to hear noises like the whooshing of cars passing. I had reached a road. It had started to drizzle when I finally reached it.

I dropped my duffel bag and fell to my knees. Everything ached viciously although the cool rain did soothe my burns a little. A rumbling growl alerted me to another vehicle coming over the hill. There was a moment when I was blinded; I could hear the sound of rock music leaking out of the car. I ran out into the road and pleaded for the car to stop. It screeched to a halt in front of me, and two rather large men climbed out.

I was hit with a staggering wave of nausea and despair when I immediately recognized the men. It was Sam and Dean Winchester, but they weren't real people. They were characters on a TV show. I had been hallucinating this entire course of events. I had to be.

"Are you alright?" Sam asked me.

"You're not real," I slurred wiping my hand over my face. "This isn't happening." I cried. I cradled my broken arm and gasped raggedly. What had I done? My arm was definitely broken as was my rib. The blood could be fake though. But what if it wasn't? Had I actually hurt someone? Killed someone?

"We need to get her to a hospital, Sam," Dean muttered the comment obviously not meant for my ears. He held up his hands and began to approach me. "You're hurt." He said slowly. "We can help you, okay? But you have to let us help you."

"You're not real!" I yelled. I recognized the look that washed over their faces. They thought I was deranged.

"I think you're confused," Sam pointed at my hairline where I knew there was a jagged cut. "You hit your head. You could be concussed."

"We'll take you to a hospital, sweetheart. It'll be okay." Dean promised and took another couple of slow steps towards me.

I'd killed someone; I was convinced I'd killed someone. If they took me to the hospital, I would never get out. They would put me in a psych ward, and they'd give me pills. I'd be trapped there forever.

I pulled the handgun out of my waistband and pointed it at them. "No! No hospital." My hand shook violently, and I couldn't steady my aim with my broken arm.

"Whoa, whoa. Hey!" Their voices overlapped in shock.

"Okay, okay." Sam nodded quickly to appease me. "No hospital, we get it."

"Drop the gun, you're going to hurt somebody," Dean ordered. I felt feverish and tired. I felt hopeless.

"Give me the keys." I rasped.

Dean scoffed angrily. "No."

"Give me the goddamn keys or I'll shoot you!" I said tears spilling down my cheeks. Sam shot his brother a look and Dean nodded.

"Alright." Dean pulled his keys out of his pocket and held them up on his thumb. They jingled on his palm, teasing me. I was so close. "Here, take them." He took a step forward and he was now about an arm's length away.

"Don't move!" I said weakly pointing my gun at his face.

"It's okay," He assured me. "I'm just doing what you want, I'm giving you the keys." Dean took a step too close, so I pulled the trigger. "Dean!" Sam called.

The gun jammed.

As soon as Dean heard the gun click uselessly, he knocked it out of my hand and I turned to make a run for it. Pain flared through my side when Dean wrapped his arms around my torso and pulled me back. This didn't make sense. Hallucinations couldn't hurt me. But this? This was the most pain I'd ever felt in my entire life.

I screamed in agony. "Help! Help me! Anyone! Please!" Somewhere deep in my brain past the haze of pain I'd decided that I must be superimposing my hallucination onto real people. It was the only thing that made sense. And for some reason, despite the agony I was in, despite the fear I had of being attacked. I needed to have what was happening to me make sense more than anything. It was the most important thing.

"Sam, A little help here!" Dean struggled as I writhed in his arms. My elbow connected with Dean's jaw and he grunted. Sam's hand wrapped around my arms and tried to hold me down. I screamed louder, the idiot was crushing my broken arm. I didn't think he realized that he was hurting me.

The more I struggled, the harder they pressed, and eventually, the pain became too much and I passed out.

* * *

 

Dean felt the girl go limp in his arms and her scream cut off in a strangled choke. He lowered her to the ground slowly.

"Jesus," He muttered rubbing his aching jaw when he finally got a good look at the girl. Whoever she was, she was beaten to hell. Her blonde hair was stained red from the cut on her forehead. She had burns all over her hands and a nasty bruise staining her pale cheekbone. There was dried blood all down her front, but it didn't come from any wound she had. It was somebody else's blood, maybe from her attacker?

"Dean," Sam called. Dean looked up to see his brother carrying a small black duffle bag. "This was by the road."

"Is there anything in there telling us who she is?" Dean asked undoing her jacket and opening it. He pulled up her shirt to see a massive purple bruise stretching over her side. He probed gently and confirmed his suspicions. Broken rib. Guilt pooled in Dean's gut. No wonder the girl had passed out, he'd been pushing down on a broken rib when he was trying to hold her down.

"Avery Jackson, 15. She lives in New London, Connecticut." Sam read out. He'd found the girl's wallet.

"Connecticut?" Dean asked bewildered. "What's she doing in Kansas?"

"Your guess is as good as mine," Sam muttered. He rifled through the bag and whistled. "There's like five thousand in cash here."

Dean's eyes widened; who the hell was this chick? He scrubbed his face tiredly. "What are we going to do with her?" His brother asked him.

"Hospital?" Dean offered. "Drop her off and then take off."

Sam gave him bitch face number 28. "We promised we wouldn't take her to a hospital."

"Yeah, I also told her I would give her the keys to Baby." Dean scoffed and stood up. "Sam we can't afford to babysit right now. Cas is missing, Abaddon is in the wind," He said ticking off fingers as he went. "And we still have to deal with the angels falling."

"I know Dean but," Sam sighed. "We can't just abandon her. We used to help people Dean… We need to help her." Sam gave Dean his signature puppy dog look, and Dean crumbled.

"Fine, fine," Dean growled; he gingerly lifted the girl up off the concrete while Sam tossed the duffel bag into the trunk of the Impala.

"You better not bleed on anything, sweetheart," Dean mumbled at the unconscious girl. She didn't respond, naturally, but Sam had heard him.

"Don't be a jerk," Sam said climbing into the passenger seat.

Dean followed suit and turned the Impala on. "Bitch."


	2. All I Know

I was awoken by the dull throb that seemed to come from every surface of my body. My left arm felt stiff and heavy; I looked down at it and saw that someone had put a cast on my arm while I was asleep. I ran my fingers over my forehead gingerly and found a butterfly stitch holding my torn skin together. My hair no longer had blood crusted onto it; it was wet. Had somebody washed my hair as well? I tried to sit up but immediately stopped when my rib protested angrily. I took a couple of shallow breaths to deal with the sudden spike of pain in my side.

If I don't move, everything will be okay. I told myself over and over again.

The room I was in didn't look like a hospital room, thankfully. It looked a bit like a dorm room. It was small and rectangular with a matching bed on the opposite wall. The room itself seemed to be split like a mirror image. The walls and floor were gray concrete, there were no windows, and the ceiling had some concrete support beams lining it. Where the hell was I? Everything looked familiar; there was something about the room that made me feel like I had seen it before…somewhere.

The door opened, and I flinched. How had my hallucinations gotten so bad? How come I was still seeing Sam Winchester? I forced myself to sit up.

"You're awake." He said closing the door behind him softly. "How are you doing?"

I tried my hardest to ignore him. I closed my eyes and started humming like my therapist had shown me to do when I started hallucinating. He told me that counter-stimulation could help make the hallucination stop.

"Um, why are you doing that?" Sam asked bewildered. I opened my eyes and glanced at him. He looked uncomfortable which was obscene. How dare a figment of my imagination have the gall to be uncomfortable because of me?

"You're not real," I said firmly. Confront your hallucinations, my therapist had told me. Accepting they weren't real helped make them go away.

"Why would you say that?" Sam asked sitting at the foot of my bed.

"I'm just having a Schizophrenic hallucination," I said to myself more than to Sam. "Sam Winchester is not at the foot of my bed."

"What? You're schizophrenic?" Sam's jaw dropped. "Wait, how did you know my name?" He asked suspiciously.

I held up a finger, "Stop." I commanded. This was the last technique I had in my arsenal. If it didn't work…

"Stop what?" Sam cried with exasperation.

"Stop, stop, stop!" I ordered.

"You're insane," Sam whispered in disbelief.

"Shut up," I hissed. "You're a figment of my imagination. You don't get to call me insane."

"How do I prove to you that I'm real?" Sam asked, determined.

"You can't because you're not." I scoffed. "You're a character on a TV show."

All of the muscles in Sam's face relaxed as if he'd just realized something. "What did you just say?"

"You can't prove you're real because you're just a character from a TV show," I repeated firmly. Sam stood up and left the room. A minute passed, and he had returned with Dean.

"You think we're characters from a TV show?" Dean asked kneeling by my side.

"I don't think," I sneered. "I know."

"What's the show called?" Sam asked quickly.

"Supernatural?" I said slowly. What were they playing at? They gave each other a look.

"Two years ago there was a powerful businessman who owned a company called Sucrocorp. What was his name?" Dean asked.

"Dick Roman. He was the head of the Leviathan." I told him.

Dean sighed. "I think…" He looked at his brother. "I think you might have been transported out of your world and into ours."

I glared at him. "Stop it. Stop that." I hissed. "That's not possible. Shit like that doesn't happen, not in real life. I'm hallucinating." I insisted.

"We aren't lying to you," Sam argued. "A few years back we were transported to your world by an angel called Balthazar—"

"No!" I cut him off. "That was an episode of Supernatural. The French Mistake didn't really happen. The writers just like getting meta sometimes."

Sam huffed angrily. "Okay, well you must have ways of differentiating between hallucinations and reality right?" He asked. I nodded.

"Use them, then." Dean shrugged.

I gritted my teeth. "I did. You saw me." I told Sam pointedly.

"The humming?" He asked. I nodded. "Well if they didn't work then you have to come to the conclusion that we're real," Sam said.

"No, I might just be having a really bad hallucination," I said. "If I took my pills…" I trailed off. If I took my medication and they still were there? I didn't know what I would do.

"Pills," Sam repeated. "If you took them and we were still here would you believe we're real?"

I nodded. "I had some in my bag." Sam sighed with relief. "We have that. I'll be right back." Sam disappeared out of the room leaving me alone with Dean.

"You were in pretty rough shape when we found you." Dean looked at me knowingly. "Do you want to tell me what happened?" He asked.

"What's the point? I'd just be talking to myself." I scoffed.

"Well then, you'd be coming to grips with what happened to you. Self-reflection and all that therapy stuff." He shrugged. "And on the off chance that I am real," Dean rolled his eyes. "I don't know maybe I could help."

"My mom's dead," I said flatly. "Unless you can bring her back I don't know how you'd be able to help me."

"How did she die?" Dean asked taking a seat on the opposite bed.

"Murdered." I looked away when my throat started to constrict. "I came home from school, the door was wide open. I couldn't find her anywhere, and when I went to her room she was…" I took a wavering breath. "She was on the ceiling,"

Dean's eyes widened.

"Nailed to it," I added when I caught his reaction. Just thinking about it made me nauseous. She'd been nailed to the ceiling, crucified almost. "She must've been too heavy though because she fell right on top of me," I whispered. "That's how I got this cut." I brushed my fingers over the butterfly stitch.

Sam walked back into the room holding several pill bottles. I cleared my throat and shifted uncomfortably under Dean's gaze.

"I didn't know which ones they were so I just brought everything you had." He frowned looking down at the labels.

"Clozapine," I told him. Sam handed me the bottle, and I poured out two of the capsules. The two looked at me expectantly, and I swallowed the pills. No one spoke for a moment.

Dean cleared his throat. "How long until they kick in?"

"A couple hours," I muttered fiddling with the fraying hem of my shirt.

Sam nodded. "How are you feeling?" He asked.

"Fine, fine." They didn't believe me; I never expected them to. But they got the message—I didn't want to talk about it—So they dropped it.

"We'll see you in a couple hours, I guess." Dean stood up and gave me one last glance before the two left. The second the door closed, I felt hot wet tears spill down my cheeks. I finally mourned my mother properly in the silent solitude of my room.

* * *

 

Three hours passed. I knew this because of the clock on the wall above the door. And when that door opened, and Sam and Dean Winchester walked in, I had only one thing to say.

"Shit." I buried my face in my hands. I couldn't believe this was happening.

"So now you know," Sam said. "We're as real as you are."

Dean crossed his arms. "How did you get here?"

"How the hell am I supposed to know?" I asked angrily.

"Just tell us what happened, from the beginning." Sam urged. "Maybe we can figure it out that way."

"I don't want to talk about it," I said quietly.

Dean nodded. "I get that, I do. But if you don't talk about it, we'll never get to the bottom of this. Don't you want to know why your mom was murdered?" Sam didn't look surprised by Dean's comment, so I figured Dean probably filled him in while we all waited for my pills to kick in. "Don't you want to know how you got into our world?" Dean added.

I sighed and looked away. "After I found my mom…" I started. "I realized she had a note in her hand. It said: Run. She's coming."

"Your mom knew her attacker," Sam said. I nodded and kept telling my story. I told them about how I killed the people who had been sent to kidnap me and how they answered to the 'Queen.' I told them how their backup blew up my house and how I ran into the forest. How I was lost for hours until I finally came across a road.

"You know the rest," I mumbled.

"The Queen?" Dean asked. "Who's the Queen?"

"Abaddon." I shrugged. "Has to be. I mean, considering that these events led to me getting transported into Supernatural."

"But Abaddon's not the queen of anything," Dean argued.

"Yeah, she is," I argued back. "Since you guys kidnapped Crowley she took over Hell. How do you guys not know this already—?"

I stopped.

"Oh!" My eyes widened.

"What? What is it?" Sam asked.

"What's the last major thing to happen to you guys?" I asked slowly.

"The angels fell, and Sam just got out of a coma a couple of days ago." Dean shrugged.

"Why do you ask?" Sam crossed his arms. The last episode I had seen of Supernatural before this whole mess was when Dean had finally gotten ahold of the first blade. But apparently, none of that had happened yet. Gadreel was still inside of Sam, Kevin wasn't dead, Dean didn't have the Mark of Cain, and Castiel was still human.

And since Gadreel was still inside of Sam, I couldn't let them know how much I knew. Gadreel could panic and run off with Sam as his meat-suit. I couldn't let that happen. I chose my next words carefully.

"That stuff happened weeks ago on the show."

Sam and Dean glanced at each other. "What happened to Cas?" They asked simultaneously, which I found sweet. Typical Winchesters, loyal to a fault and protective of their friends like it was second nature to them.

"He's human. Metatron stole his grace for the spell to cast all of the angels out of heaven." I told them easily. "He's being hunted by rogue reapers."

"Where is he?" Dean asked.

"I don't remember," I scoffed. "I watched that episode weeks ago. I just know that he runs into a reaper named April, and they— well…" I blushed.

Dean smirked. "Cas, you dog."

"Yeah well, you need to find him real quick," I told them. "In the show, Cas almost gets stabbed to death."

"Well, how did we find him the first time?" Sam asked. I didn't respond I was too busy trying to shut out the voices that had leapt into my mind.

 _Detroit, Detroit, Detroit,_  they hissed.

I didn't understand how I could be having auditory hallucinations. I had just taken my pills, this shouldn't have been happening.

"Um, sorry. What did you say?" I asked trying to shake the voices out of my head.

"How did we find Cas last time?" Sam repeated while giving me a piercing look.

"You guys interrogated a rogue reaper who was following you. He tried to use you to find Cas." I explained while the voices whispering Detroit reverberated in my head. "Start looking in Detroit," I added unconsciously.

"Why Detroit?" Dean asked.

"I dunno, gut feeling," I mumbled. Sam and Dean looked at each other for a moment.

Dean slapped his knees and stood up. "Alright, Detroit it is. Sam, you can stay here and watch her while I go rescue Cas."

"What? No." Sam protested. "I'm coming with you."

"You're still in rough shape Sammy, plus we can't leave her behind, alone," Dean told his brother under his breath, I knew I wasn't meant to hear any of it, but I listened vigilantly to their words anyway. There was no way in hell I would tolerate being left out of the loop.

"We'll call Kevin," Sam argued. "He can watch over her." Dean gritted his teeth, but Sam didn't look like he was going to back down.

"You guys go," I interrupted. They turned to look at me. "Call Kevin up, we'll be fine. I'm sure you guys will only be gone for two days, three tops."

"Avery—" Dean started before I cut him off.

"No, Sam doesn't want to babysit. I get it." Sam's face filled with guilt but I made no attempt to make him feel better. "Go save that nerd angel," I told them. "Just do me one favor?"

Sam nodded.

"Get me my laptop? I'll die of boredom if these wounds don't get me first."

* * *

 

The boys were gone in less than an hour. Kevin appeared shortly after they left.

"Hey," He gave me an awkward wave. "I'm Kevin."

"I know." I nodded. Kevin shuffled uncomfortably at the door. "How old are you?" I asked him.

"Um, eighteen?" Huh, I always felt like he was older.

"So you're a kid." I nodded. "Just like me."

Kevin looked like he wanted to protest but he didn't.

"How did we get sucked into this, Kev?" I sighed sadly. He didn't have an answer, so I asked him to help me out of bed.

"Are you sure?" He asked hesitantly. "You're pretty banged up. Maybe you should rest."

"I'm done resting," I grumbled. "I want to explore. It's not every day you get transported into a TV show." And so with quite a bit of struggle and several breaks, Kevin was able to pull me out of bed and lead me through the bunker. The show had only shown a fraction of the bunker. It was massive with several rooms and hallways. It was a miracle we didn't get lost. We eventually wandered into a room with tall filing cabinets. It seemed strangely familiar.

"I've seen this before," I whispered.

"Who's there?" Somebody grumbled from behind a pair of filing cabinets. That voice was chillingly familiar and could belong to only one person. Kevin beside me froze in shock.

"Crowley," Kevin said horrified.

"Kevin, darling, is that you?" Crowley taunted.

"Open the door, Kevin." I urged him.

"Who's that with you, your girlfriend?" Crowley continued. I heard him rattle the chains around his wrists.

"C'mon Kev." I limped towards the cabinets. There was no way I would be able to move them myself. Kevin stood there frozen and gaping at the cabinet. It was only with a few more calls that he finally snapped out of his trance.

"We should get out of here." He pulled at my wrist.

"He's chained up, there's nothing to be afraid of." I waved him off. "C'mon, help me out." He finally helped me push away the heavy furniture to reveal a slightly rumpled man in a dark suit. The King of Hell himself, chained to the floor. A metal table separated him from us, and he was sitting in a matching metal chair. A Key of Solomon was painted into the concrete below him, and his chains were etched with strange markings from another era.

"Well, I'll be damned." He chuckled. "I'd never thought I'd see you here, Avery."

"How do you know my name?" I asked surprised. Crowley's eyes glinted red. He straightened out his suit and seemed to recollect himself.

"It's not every day you run across one of the most powerful weapons in the world." He smirked.

"What are you talking about?" I hissed, but I couldn't put any real power behind my words. Crowley's words had unsettled me. If he knew that I had come from the somewhat future in a world where this was a TV show I could be in deep shit. I knew at least six people who would kill to get their hands on the information I held.

Crowley cocked his head. "You can drop the act darling, we both know who you really are, what you really are."

I narrowed my eyes at him. 'What I really was'? His choice of words made my spidey senses tingle, it caused a disturbance in the force, it rubbed me the wrong way, something was off, and I intended to find out what.

"Ballsy move, coming back here. Or have you really been out of the loop for so long?" Crowley said silkily.

"I am very well aware of everything that's happened here, Crowley." I straightened up and changed my speech patterns. If I had learned anything from the show is that anything powerful was old, like centuries old if not millennia. And such old creatures always had stilted and formal speech patterns. If I could convince Crowley that I was whatever being he thought I was, I could figure out who he thought I was...I shook myself internally, I was just confusing myself now.

"Oh really?" Crowley scoffed. "And how have you been able to do that?"

"I have my ways, demon. I see you've allowed yourself to be captured by the humans again. Not a very formidable opponent are you?" I said dismissively. Kevin gave me a strange look like he was debating whether or not to run away. Apparently, my act had him convinced as well.

"I ran into some complications," Crowley said stonily, he struggled to keep his composure, and I could feel his cool confidence slipping.

"Tricked, like some weak-minded cartoon villain." I laughed coldly. "I somehow expected more from you, King of Hell indeed."

Something snapped in Crowley, and he jumped up the chains holding him back. "You're one to talk, hiding who knows where with your head in the sand. Mommy and Daddy scared that you would be exploited?"

"Mommy and Daddy?" I blinked.

"And what power do you really have?" Crowley sneered. "Just an empty shell for the real players to use. I know hundreds of 'cartoon villains' aching to take a ride in your meat suit." He spat and smacked the metal table with both fists. The clang reverberated through the room.

So that was it. I was a vessel! But for who? Wait no not me, whoever he had me confused for. Was the vessel destined for an angel? A demon? Maybe this being was the big bad for next season after the whole Mark of Cain deal. But the showrunners hadn't leaked any information or even hinted to such a being yet in the show. Maybe things weren't exactly as they went in the show.

I decided to try and figure out who was supposed to be the vessel's occupant.

"You and I both know who I am destined for." I stuck my nose up pompously.

"Is that why you've returned? You think big guns upstairs is going to make a cameo appearance." Crowley snorted. "You're having a laugh! _He_ hasn't shown his face in millennia, and he's sure as hell not going to anytime soon."

"God?" I was dumbstruck. Was God going to make an appearance? This being was his vessel.

That thought bothered me. It still didn't make sense how he knew me by name. How he was able to recognize my face. My facade seemed to have faltered because Crowley's eyes narrowed dangerously, he was catching on to my ploy.

"You really don't know," He looked at me and took in my appearance for the first time. "A bit banged up are we? Did you knock a screw loose?" He smiled coldly. I dropped the act, my shoulders slumped, and the regal expression fell from my face. There was no point pretending, I had gotten what I needed.

"I don't know who you think I am Crowley." I shook my head. "But I'm definitely not a vessel. I'm just some schizophrenic girl Sam, and Dean picked up on the side of the road-"

Crowley's barking laugh cut me off. "Oh they've washed your brain quite thoroughly, haven't they? Or is this one of your multiple personalities? I'd heard rumors that that's one of your powers." Crowley stopped and looked at me. "And if you are one of the other ones...then how did you get here?"

"You're insane," I hissed. "You don't know what you're talking about. I'm not what you think I am!"

"Well, we'll just have to wait and see won't we?" Crowley smirked. I backed away and fled the room. "Do send my regards to your dear mother! If Abaddon hasn't gotten to her already."

Kevin wasn't fast enough to stop me from breaking Crowley's nose.

 


	3. A Deal With the Devil

My throbbing knuckles did little to distract me from the unbridled rage coursing through my veins. Kevin had all but dragged me out of the 'dungeon' after I punched Crowley in the face.

"You shouldn't have done that." Kevin scolded me lightly after helping me back into bed and handing me an icepack.

"He deserved it." I hissed trying to bite back tears of anger and pain.

"Yeah, but," Kevin sat across from me tiredly. "Crowley doesn't forget stuff like that. He'll find a way to make you pay later."

And he was right. Crowley didn't forget any slights no matter how small. I'd seen no less than five years worth of television as proof. But I didn't care; I couldn't bring myself to care about the consequences.

"I don't care," I told Kevin bitterly.

"Maybe you should."

But Crowley's revenge seemed to be the least of my worries at this point.

He thought I was some sort of overpowered divine vessel which made no sense whatsoever. How could I be a vessel? For God no less, and in a place that shouldn't exist, none of Supernatural should be real and yet here I was. In the bunker with Kevin Tran and Crowley.

It was illogical, impossible. And yet, here it was. And I was apparently a part of it.

No, I shook my head. I wasn't a part of it. Crowley definitely had me confused with someone, or something else. I couldn't possibly be the vessel he was speaking of. He'd mentioned powers; I had no powers. That in and of itself was proof that I couldn't be the being he spoke of.

"Is any of that true?" Kevin asked me when I didn't answer. "The vessel of God stuff?"

I shook my head. "Of course not, how could it be?"

"Well, you were pretty convincing for a moment." Kevin scratched the back of his neck. "How did you know that he would tell you all that stuff by playing along?"

"I've seen how he works for quite a long time." I shrugged. "How all of you work, really. It wasn't too hard to play the role of dangerous old thing after years of watching other dangerous old things do their stuff."

"But there is a vessel," Kevin said. "Crowley wouldn't make that up; it wouldn't make sense."

"There must be." I nodded. "And if there is, then I'm guessing that'll be the next being the boys are going to have to face. The new big bad."

"Big bad?" Kevin asked.

"Villain." I clarified. "Monster, Boss level at the end of a video game, the battle of good versus evil. It happens every year at roughly the same time for you guys if the TV show is accurate with airdates."

"Or maybe not." I shrugged. "I'm not really sure how time translates here."

"That's really weird you know," Kevin said.

"What?"

Kevin grimaced. "That our lives; my life is all a TV show. It kind of freaks me out."

"Just think of it as reality TV." I smiled dryly. "Besides, you don't show up too often. I think you've only been in eighteen out of a hundred and eighty some episodes."

"One hundred and eighty!" Kevin's jaw dropped.

"Yeah, the show is in its ninth season. It's been following the boys' story since their dad disappeared." I frowned. "Or rather since Dean came and got Sam from college."

"Wow, you guys must really like the show." Kevin frowned.

I laughed. "You have no idea."

"But, why?" Kevin looked bewildered. "Horrible things happen to us all the time. To innocent people! Do you get a kick out of watching other people suffer?" Kevin asked bitterly.

"No! Not at all!" I defended. "That's not what the show is about. Yes, there is monster hunting, and yes people die…a lot. But that's not what draws us in."

"Then what?" Kevin demanded.

I bit my tongue as I looked for the right words. "It's about family. It's about two brothers who love each other and will always be there for each other. It's about sacrifice and fighting for everything that is good and right about the world. It's about saving people," I smiled. "Hunting things, the family business."

We sat in thoughtful silence while Kevin mulled my explanation over. He still looked slightly troubled by the day's events, but there was little I could do to ease him. I myself wasn't too comfortable with the discovery of Crowley and what he had to say to me.

"Kevin," I started. He looked up. "Do you think the Men of Letters have anything on this 'vessel'?" I wondered.

"Probably," He shrugged. "They have something on everything."

"We should look through their library, their records," I told him. "Maybe we can find something about this vessel."

And that's what we did for the next three days. We tore through pages and pages of information with little luck. It was on the fourth day that everything began to change.

I was starting to worry when Sam and Dean hadn't returned with Castiel. I chalked it up to not having a proper understanding of how much time actually passed during that episode and the one before. What with time jumps and all to cut out the hours of travel between states, I might have miscalculated.

Kevin and I were having some top ramen for dinner when it started; a raging fever of a hundred and six point five degrees.

It hit me like a freight train. I thought that I was dying. But I didn't.

Kevin took, or rather carried, me back to my room and brought me about a dozen plastic bags filled with ice. He then proceeded to cover me with them in an attempt to cool me down.

He switched out the bags every three hours to keep my body temperature down so that my brain wouldn't fry.

"Maybe I should call Sam and Dean." Kevin had said worriedly when my fever didn't lessen the next day.

"N-No." I shivered. "T-they have t-to find C-cas." So Kevin didn't call the boys, and the fever didn't leave me. It was a couple of hours later that the nature of the fever began to change.

Instead of feeling like my entire body was being broiled, the heat moved to my bones and then the surface of my skin.

I wasn't prepared mentally for what happened next.

One by one my bones clicked and ground, expanding inside of my body. The pain was unbearable and my agonized screams reverberated throughout the entire bunker.

"Sam! Something is happening to Avery! Please, call me back!"

That was the fifth message Kevin had left in the last three minutes. The boys, for whatever reason, weren't picking up their phones. Finally, my bones stopped shifting and then my skin began to stretch and bubble along the surface. The sight must have been horrifying because I heard the sounds of vomiting at one point in my pain-induced haze.

Kevin didn't have much of a stomach for this life.

An hour later my skin stopped stretching and sliding around me. The next part of the metamorphosis involved the delicate structure of my organ systems. I could feel them changing inside of me twitching, shrinking, growing, moving. And finally the heat stopped, the pain stopped. And not just the new pain from the transformation, but all of the pain I'd felt since those people came for me at my house.

My arm no longer throbbed and neither did my ribs. I checked my abdomen for the bruise that I'd been sporting since that day, and it was nowhere to be found. I probed my hairline for the tiny fissure on my forehead, but there was no proof that I had ever been cut there before.

"Kevin?" I called, my voice was a hoarse whisper and almost unrecognizable. "Kevin!" I called again, louder.

There was a set of hesitant footsteps outside my door, which paused after a moment.

"Kevin, water. Please." I begged. My mouth felt bone dry like I'd been lost in the desert for months without water. I heard him scurry away and then return. The door opened slowly.

Kevin gasped and dropped the glass when he saw me.

"Kevin!" I complained. I was so thirsty, and the idiot had dropped my water.

"How did you-you're not—?" Kevin sputtered as I swung my legs over the side of my bed. The room spun, and my limbs felt strange and disproportioned. Kevin took a step back when I finally managed to stand.

"I think," I started when my limbs didn't collapse beneath my weight. "I think I'm okay now." I moved to pick up the broken glass, and Kevin flinched.

"What's wrong with you?" My voice still sounded funny. Slightly deeper than I was used to hearing, but I chalked it up to not having had anything to drink for a while after being severely dehydrated.

"Y-you're—" Kevin sputtered into silence.

"Spit it out why don't you," I demanded my patience starting to wear thin.

"You changed." He finally managed in a trembling voice. "You really are that thing Crowley was talking about aren't you." He whispered. "The vessel."

"What are you talking about!" My impatience transformed into an unbridled panic. Kevin floundered, and I pushed past him towards the bathroom. I fumbled with the light switch. When it finally turned on, I gasped as well.

I was…different. I didn't look the same at all. I looked…older? Tears sprung to my eyes, and I cursed. Violently. I cursed, and I threw the first thing I could get my hands on- the soap dispenser- and threw it at the mirror.

"What is happening to me?" I cried hopelessly into my hands. I sank to the floor and wept. I heard Kevin come in for a moment and then leave again. He probably didn't know what to say to me.

I wouldn't know what to say to me. Time passed, and the tears finally stopped. More time passed, and I dissected my situation.

I was alone. My mother was dead, my father left us two years ago so he no longer even counted as family. I had no friends who would truly miss my absence. Lucy would be off to med school with little or no thought about us. She was always so ambitious.

So yes, I was alone. And apparently the vessel for the divine being many called God. The Roman Catholic one, I'm guessing.

I was in a strange place, or rather dimension, reality, whatever you wanted to call it, alternate universe, if you will, with people who weren't supposed to exist as they were. They were supposed to be men who came in from nine to five, more or less, pretended to be someone else, and then went home to their real lives. These people were not the ones I'd come to know.

What was I going to do next? I stood up and washed the tears from my face with cool water. With new resolve, I decided to go to the one person who I knew to have information on what I was.

I was going to speak to Crowley.

"Well well well, what do we have here?" Crowley cocked his head when I pushed back the cabinets that had sealed him away from the rest of the bunker. I'd sawed off the cast on my arm with a kitchen knife since I no longer needed it.

"I need you to tell me everything about what I am, this vessel thing," I demanded.

"Believe me now do you?" Crowley smirked. "You look different. Have you done something with your hair?" He mocked, and I gritted my teeth.

"Yes, I believe you. Now tell me," Crowley cocked an eyebrow, and I sighed and added, "Please."

"Now that's better. Unfortunately, not much is known about you. Just some rumors floating around, stories." Crowley said silkily.

"What kind of stories?" I asked.

"Ah ah ah." He tsked. "What's in it for me?"

"My undying gratitude," I answered deadpanned. I didn't have time for this.

"Not good enough," Crowley growled losing all playfulness. "I want assurances, I want out of this hole and out of these chains!" He shook his hands, which caused the chains to jingle as if to add emphasis to his words.

"I can't promise that," I said indignantly.

"You want answers, don't you?"

I nodded.

"Then make it happen!" Crowley hissed.

I ran my fingers through my hair, what he was proposing sounded suspiciously like a demon deal. And those were dangerous, very dangerous. If I was going to deal with him, then I had to be very careful.

"Fine." I acquiesced. Crowley sat back as if in surprise and then smiled. "Now that's more like it."

"I'll make a deal with you." I offered. "If you tell me everything you know about my situation, then I'll free you, but you have to also include in the deal that you won't try to harm me, Sam, Dean, Castiel, anyone close to us for any ulterior motive after this. You also can't hurt us indirectly."

"Is that all?" Crowley drawled.

"No," I crossed my arms. "Also no fine print." I sneered. "Everything I just said is the agreement. No secret clauses or loopholes; and no selling souls. My soul is not on the table."

Crowley pursed his lips. "The scales seem very unbalanced, love. I don't think I'm getting my money's worth."

"By all means, Crowley. Refuse my deal." I smirked. "Every second you wait you lose more and more followers to Abaddon. Soon, you'll be as insignificant as before." His face started to slowly turn red. I had him on tilt. "King of Hell indeed." I sneered for extra measure.

"Deal!" He hissed.

I smirked and went to shake his hand, but it was his turn to smile. "No love, that's not how these things work."

And I knew what he meant.

"Pucker up buttercup." Crowley popped the 'p' in buttercup and then shot me a sinister smile. I quelled my unease, leaned in, and closed my eyes. I didn't know what I expected the kiss would be like, but it wasn't expecting what it was. It was…scratchy. His unshaven face was prickly and uncomfortable, and his lips were cold.

As soon as it started, it was over. There was no crash of lightning to signify that a deal had been struck. I didn't feel different. But when Crowley leaned back, and I opened my eyes to look at him I knew something had changed. We were bound to the agreement. And he relished it.

"Now darling, about these chains."

I pulled away and examined the heavy iron chains that held him captive. They were medieval looking with heavy locks but otherwise pretty simple key mechanisms. The reason they were so effective was because of the engraved wards. Crowley couldn't remove the shackles even if he had the keys.

Judging by that fact I knew that the keys should be close by.

I rifled through the file cabinets, which were bursting with documents. They were labeled alphabetically. I paused my search for a moment when an idea struck me. I quickly thumbed through the tabs until I reached 'k' and then continued and stopped at 'keys.' I pulled out a set of old iron keys on a thick metal loop.

"Bingo." I grinned, proud that I was able to figure out.

I returned to Crowley who was picking at his fingernails with a bored expression on his face. After a few moments of trial and error, I found the right keys for the right locks and the chains started coming off one by one. I was about to turn the last key of the last lock when I heard movement behind me.

"Hey! What are you doing!" Sam growled launching himself at me. I unlocked the last shackle and Crowley grinned his eyes turning red. He flicked his fingers and Sam was tossed into the opposite wall.

"You said you wouldn't hurt them!" I said angrily.

"I won't," Crowley rolled his eyes. "Moose is fine, see?" Sam struggled to his feet and glared. Dean and Cas rushed through the door armed, and Crowley winked at me. "Time to go. Tootles." He snapped his fingers and disappeared.

"Hey!" I screamed at the empty air. "We had a deal!" In moments Dean was on me pulling my hands behind my back.

"Who are you?" He accused. "You working for Crowley?"

"Get off of me!" I growled trying to rip my wrists out of his hands.

"Who are you!" Dean yelled again.

"I'm Avery, you dumbass!"

Dean reeled back in surprise, and I managed to pull myself free. I panted heavily from my struggle, and Dean's face fell back into a glare, Castiel and Sam flanked me so that I had nowhere to run, not that I would.

"Schizophrenia," Dean snarled. "You really had us going, didn't you?"

"You think I'm lying to you?" I asked indignantly.

"No, we know you're lying to us. Four days ago when we left, you were fifteen!" Sam growled angrily. "Now we're back, you're ten years older, and Crowley is gone!"

"Where's Kevin?" I demanded. "He was here with me, he knows the truth."

"Oh we spoke with Kevin," Dean said. "Imagine our surprise when he tells us that you're some kind of ancient vessel for God."

"That's- I didn't-" I floundered looking for an explanation. "I found out after you guys left," I finally managed. "I got sick! Kevin called you guys a million times. We thought I was dying!"

"Well, maybe it was better if you did!" Dean yelled at me. "Then Crowley wouldn't be in the wind!" He kicked over the table, and I flinched fighting back the tears that pricked at the corner of my eyes. My heroes would rather see me dead. Sam's eyes softened for a moment when he saw me bite back tears, but it was gone and replaced with disgust in seconds.

"You said you made a deal," Sam started coldly. "With Crowley. What was the deal?"

"Screw you," I whispered angrily, I hated that my voice trembled when I said it but felt an alarming wave of satisfaction when it seemed to make the Winchesters angrier.

"We should have done this the second we found you," Dean growled stepping towards me.

"Get away from me." I trembled. He pulled out a strange flask from his pocket and unscrewed the lid. I didn't know what it was, but I had no intention of finding out. I turned to Cas who had remained silent throughout the entire ordeal. He was giving me a strange yet calculating look. Like he was trying to figure me out.

He and Sam were still blocking the door, and I didn't know where to turn. I saw the knocked over chair and tossed it at Dean with all my might. He batted it away easily, but it was all the distraction I needed. I rushed passed Dean and elbowed Cas in the gut when he tried to grab me.

I was so close to freedom I could taste it. But before I could take one step out of the door, there was a hand in my hair yanking me back. I yelped in pain as I was thrown to the ground. I laid on there stunned when something liquid was thrown on my face. It stung like nothing I had ever felt before. Like a million paper cuts dipped in a vat of lemon juice.

"Ah! What is that?" I yelled in agony.

"I knew it!" Dean growled his face filled with rage. "Look at her eyes!" He yelled at Sam who looked very ashamed of whatever the hell Dean was talking about. I tried wiping the offensive liquid off of my face but only succeeded in spreading the pain to my hands.

Dean pulled me off of the ground roughly and righted the chair I had thrown at him. He forced me down and started shackling me to it much like Crowley had been before I freed him.

"What are you doing?" I complained squinting past the pain and struggling with the shackles at the same time.

"We have ways of getting information from demons," Dean smirked menacingly.

"Demon? I'm not a demon!" I yelled at him, now he was the insane one.

"Tell it to the holy water." He sneered dousing me again with the liquid. I screamed and yanked at the chains instinctively trying to wipe my face, but they only allowed my hands to reach my chin and I had to bend over to reach my face.

"You're making a mistake," I said through tears. "Please," I begged.

"You have an hour to decide if you're going to cooperate." Dean threatened. After one last glare, they left the room, and I was alone.

I sobbed openly once the door had closed and yanked at the chains violently to no avail. I screamed for help, I begged for anyone to come rescue me, but none came. I knew none would come. My hour was soon almost over, and my wrists were rubbed raw and bleeding. I knew there was nothing I could say to prove my innocence so I did the last thing I could.

I shut down.

I had done it several times when the depression, an unfortunate side effect of my schizophrenia medication, took hold of me. I refused to eat, to speak, to do anything besides sleep, drink water, and go to the bathroom.

Sooner or later I'd die of starvation or illness, whatever came first, and I'd be free of this world forever.

With this new conviction, my crying stuttered to a halt. I took a deep breath and buried every emotion but the suffocating sadness down and waited for the door to open.


	4. Misunderstood

"What was the deal you made with Crowley?" Dean repeated, but the girl in the chair made no move to answer.

In fact, she hadn't moved even to acknowledge that she had heard anything at all. Her eyes were dull and fixed to a point in space, unseeing, unrelenting. Her face was tear-stained and flushed, her wrists, a raw bloody mess, bruised and blistered.

Dean slammed his fist against the metal table, and the sound reverberated throughout the concrete chamber, but the girl did not flinch. Avery did not flinch at his third demand for compliance, to his third promise of torture if she didn't comply.

Well, third time's the charm.

In rolled a dolly covered in torture implements, clean and shining; a pitcher of holy water with a rosary suspended in it. Funny how not long ago she had taken solace in praying that same rosary before she went to sleep, just as her father had taught her so many years ago. Now it was going to be used as an instrument of her pain.

One stray tear rolled down her emotionless countenance, betraying her true feelings. The girl was afraid but ready for the pain to come. In fact, she almost relished in it. The more pain Dean inflicted, the more quickly she would approach her demise.

His mistake about her identity, her status as a human would ultimately lead him to go too far, and he would kill her.

Sam and Castiel wanted no part in the proceedings. Sam because he couldn't get past the niggling doubt at the back of his head and Cas because he was too busy searching deep in his memory banks for information on the fabled divine vessel.

Since his transformation into a human, thousands upon thousands of years of memory had become lost and muddled within his skull. He knew faintly the importance of such a being but couldn't remember if it was benevolent or malevolent, if it was female or male, he couldn't even remember what it would look like if he saw it despite knowing deep down that he had seen them before.

Castiel paused in his examination of his memories.  _Them?_ Was there more than one? But his bearings on the memory were lost in the tumult, and he shrugged the thought off.

Avery, still a child in many ways and yet an adult in others, braced herself for the first longitudinal cut down her upper arm. The serrated blade did not cut deep, but its edges caught on her flesh and tore like the canines of some hound. The magical properties of the blade wove pure pain into the torn flesh of her arm, and she screamed in agony.

The scream reverberated throughout the entire bunker, through every home in a twenty-mile radius. The scream laced with the purest of agonies and uninhibited despair struck the hearts of every mother and father, sister and brother as the deepest sadness they had ever felt in their entire lives hit them.

For a moment everyone wept for that nameless being trapped deep in the earth with nothing but her pain to keep her company. And then just as soon as it began it was over. Everyone struck by the emotion was silent for a moment looking at their companions as if to ask,  _what was that?_  But when no answer was procured, they moved on and held their loved ones praying to never feel such despair again in their lives.

Back at the source of the despair, her screams continued. Dean though slightly hindered by the wave of emotion pushed it aside and continued, blinded by his fear as many who do terrible things are.

The screams that followed were never laced with as much despair as the first, in fact, no one felt the true pain the girl suffered like they did the first time. The empathic response was never repeated during the entirety of her torture.

But the first one served its purpose. Deep in Dean's subconscious, doubt began to take hold. His aggressions turned less and less cruel until he could no longer lift a finger to harm the girl in front of him. Sickening guilt began to pool deep in his gut, but he refused to succumb to it, convinced that the creature in front of him was bent on destroying anything he ever loved, for it was working with Crowley, wasn't it?

He had heard her confirm with her voice the existence of a deal and yet no matter what he did to her she never relented in her steadfast innocence. She had refrained from answering any of his questions.

Dean with trembling fingers went to lift the next torture implement in his arsenal but paused when the girl flinched under the heavy bruising and cuts  _he_  had inflicted.

This tiny show of weakness struck him like nothing he'd ever felt before, and he dropped the tool of pain. He dropped it and retreated, stunned, from the room. The door closed again after three hours of torture, and the girl slumped in her chair.

It was over, for now.

After several minutes the girl stiffened and looked around the room. She was alone and yet if anyone had asked her she would have sworn she could hear voices, more specifically a voice.

It was kind and soft and whispered to her; it told her to stay strong. It told her that in time, it would tell her everything she needed to know. It would teach her how to be strong if she couldn't do it herself.

For the next week, she would find solace in that voice when she could find none. It was her companion. But to her, it wasn't a solution. Despite the promises of strength and a better life she would not, could not be comforted and so she waited. Waited for death.

* * *

There was a hesitant knock at the door of my prison, but I didn't even turn to look at my visitor.

"Hey," Sam said trying to draw my attention. "I brought you some food."

I wasn't going to eat it, and he knew that. For the past twenty-four meals, I just drank the water and left the rest. Every day it was the same. Sam placed the tray in front of me and then took a step back. I wouldn't drink until he left. I didn't want him to see me move.

They hadn't tortured me in days, not since Dean had the first time. I didn't know why it stopped so my only choice now was to try and starve myself to death. I think they knew that that's what I was trying to do because Sam stepped forward again when I refused to eat.

"You have to eat, or you're going to die," Sam said. I turned away from him and the food. He sighed, and I heard him leave the room. It was interesting that he thought that. Demons couldn't die from starvation so if they thought I was a demon then why were they trying to feed me?

I turned back to the tray and reached for the plastic cup of water. They had stopped giving me glass cups after I tried to commit suicide.

I hissed when the shackles rubbed against the bruised skin around my wrists. They were stained a hideous purple and crusted over with dried blood. My entire body was like that. I was covered with cuts and bruises. My left eye was swollen, my lip was busted, and everything was sore. I'd been sleeping half upright in that metal chair for the past several days.

I didn't think they knew what to do with me anymore. They hadn't tried to get more information from me, but they also hadn't let me go. What were they waiting for?

I nearly dropped my cup when a short man materialized in front of me, his back facing me.

"You didn't think I would go back on my deal did you—" Crowley gasped when he saw me for the first time. "What the bloody hell happened to you?" I found his concern interesting. Then again, he was a little more human after the blood ritual to redeem his soul.

I spoke for the first time in days. "Dean happened." My voice was hoarse and dry from disuse.

"Well, I'll be damned." He muttered. I didn't laugh. "Very well then, we'll cut right to the chase." Crowley pulled up an empty chair and straddled it, his arms resting on the back of the chair. I placed the plastic cup down gently and looked at him.

"I'm listening."

Crowley looked at me and then started. "Sometime right after the fall of Lucifer and the creation of the first demon, God supposedly created a recipe to make a vessel for himself; One that would be able to blend in within any part of his creation. It is said that the union between the offspring of a Nephilim and a cambion would create such a being."

"What's a cambion?" I asked.

"The offspring of a demon and a human," Crowley explained.

"So you're saying," I looked at him, "That my parents were a cambion and a Nephilim. I'm part demon and part angel?"

"Your mother was a cambion, yes. " Crowley nodded. Was my mother part demon? That didn't make sense. She was such a kind person.

"You knew her." I realized.

"I knew you as well, once upon a time. I saw you grow up." Crowley smirked.

"That's impossible." I shook my head; I definitely would have remembered if Crowley was around while I was growing up.

"Is it?" Crowley cocked an eyebrow. "From what I gather, you don't remember a whole lot of things."

"Like what?" I asked hesitantly.

"Well, you think you're schizophrenic, for one." Crowley scoffed like it was one of the most ridiculous things he'd ever heard in his life.

"And I'm not?" I looked at him, and he rolled his eyes.

"Of course you're not."

"Then what were all those hallucinations, the voices that I hear?" I asked getting more and more agitated by the second.

Crowley pursed his lips. "It is rumored that there are other worlds, universes that all sit next to each other, like Russian nesting dolls. Since God created all of these planes, he needed a vessel that could transcend these…" He paused to find the right word. "Dimensions."

"What does that have to do with my hallucinations?" I frowned.

"It is said that when the vessel was created, God gave it the ability to exist in all of these universes, at the same time, with all of its memories intact, with all of its consciousness intact. But you…" Crowley frowned at me. "You're fractured. You don't have all your memories. My guess—and this is just a theory—is that you are only getting snippets of whatever else is going on in every other universe."

I was reeling; my mom had lied to me all these years. She had me convinced that I was insane, that there was something wrong with me, something that needed to be fixed.  _I_ thought I was insane for all my life. I went through hell with those goddamned pills, they screwed with my head, made me angry and sad and scared for no reason.

I was alone for so long. I was ostracized for being that freak girl with the mental problems.

"Why would she lie to me?" My voice was a broken whisper.

"To protect you, perhaps." Crowley offered. "Your guess is as good as mine, really."

"Why did the holy water hurt me, the demon blade, why did it hurt me?" I asked.

"You know the answer to that, love," Crowley smirked.

"I'm part demon," I said. It made sense. Holy water would burn me because I  _was_ ademon, even if only partly. But there was one more thing that didn't make sense. "I still don't understand, why did I change? Why am I older now that I'm here?"

Crowley stood and slid the chair back where he found it. "Think of it like this," He started buttoning his coat. "No universe is the same, so why should you be?"

"Where are you going?" I asked pulling at the chains reflexively. "Get me out of these," I begged.

He smirked. "Not part of the deal, darling." And with that and a snap of his fingers, he was gone. I sighed and glanced around the room for the first time since I'd arrived there. I stopped when something caught my eye, there hidden among the shelves was a blinking red light attached to what could only be,

"A camera…" I whispered peering at it closely. Yes, there was no mistake. It was a camera. They had been watching me the entire time. No wonder they found me before I could successfully commit suicide.

And that meant that they had seen and, no doubt, heard everything that had just transpired between Crowley and I. They had been waiting for Crowley to return.

The door opened loudly, startling me. I shrunk away from the person who walked through the door.

Dean.

He took three steps forward and then paused. His features were pinched with discomfort and…guilt?

"I am… _so_ …sorry," Dean whispered earnestly. I kept my face blank; I didn't know what to say to him. His apologies didn't take away the pain or the memory of what he did to me.

Dean closed the distance between us and reached for my hands. I couldn't help but flinch, the memory of what his hands were capable of was never too far away.

His eyes filled with guilt and hurt; I scoffed to myself, he had the nerve to feel hurt after he hurt me.

"It's alright," He said sadly, "I'm not going to hurt you."

Anymore.

Dean, much gentler now, reached for my hands and undid the shackles, which surprised me. I didn't expect I would ever leave my cell ever again. After completely freeing me he stepped back and gently pulled me up by my elbow.

"Come on, it's okay," Dean reassured me in a soft voice. Where was he taking me?

I let him lead me out of the room and into the hallway. We stopped at a room labeled 7C, and he opened the door. Inside was a small but well-equipped infirmary of sorts. Castiel was there dressed in flannel, a sweatshirt, and jeans, waiting.

"Cas will take care of you; I figured you'd be more comfortable with him rather than—"

"You?" I offered in a harsh whisper. Dean bit his lip and looked away, I could almost feel his shame, not that it mattered. "What do you mean by 'take care of me'?" I asked.

Dean's eyes widened. "Not kill you." He reassured me hurriedly, "No, he's just going to patch you up because you're in such rough shape—" He stopped when he remembered  _why_  I was in such 'rough shape'.

I looked at him, and he lingered awkwardly by the door. "Okay, I'm just going to be—" He gestured to the door and nodded. "Okay."

Dean left, and I turned to look at Cas. "It's alright." He said in his deep baritone. "I won't hurt you." Cas looked down at the bottle of antiseptic. "Although this might."

* * *

Dean poured himself a whiskey, drank it, and then poured himself another.

"Dean," Sam said from behind him. He turned and shook his head.

"I don't want to hear it, Sam. I know. I'm an awful person. If I wasn't going to hell before, I am now." Dean drank his second glass of whiskey, hoping to drown the guilt with a good buzz.

"That's not what I was going to say." His brother shook his head.

"Then what were you going to say, Sam?" Dean growled. "That it's not my fault? That I thought she was dangerous and that makes what I did okay? Because it doesn't, Sam, it doesn't make it okay!" Dean slammed the glass down.

"I tortured an innocent girl! A fifteen-year-old girl! And for what?" Dean challenged disdainfully.

"Dean," Sam said softly hoping to get through to his brother. "She could have been dangerous; she still might be."

Dean scoffed bitterly and poured himself another whiskey.

"We thought she was a demon, Dean!" Sam argued. "Her eyes turned black, and she reacted to the holy water. How were we supposed to know any different?"

Dean shook his head and drank his whiskey.

Sam sighed exasperatedly. "Yes, it was a mistake. I don't deny that. And yes we should be sorry it happened and apologize. But we can't let this distract us from what we know."

"And what's that, Sam?" Dean asked sarcastically.

"Abaddon is on the loose, so is Crowley," Sam said. "The angels have fallen, Metatron is in heaven, and we have God's  _vessel_  in the bunker."

Dean pursed his lips.

"We can't afford to wallow in guilt and—" Sam ripped the glass out of Dean's hand much to Dean's annoyance. "Drink for a couple of weeks 'till we feel all better. Not when all of this has happened. Not when innocent people could die, Dean."

Sam sighed and looked away. "Listen, what we did is— wrong. And we need to fix it, all of it."

"I don't even know where to start, Sam." Dean laughed bitterly. "You should have seen her. She can't even  _look_  at me without flinching." Dean picked up his glass of whiskey. "A 'sorry' isn't going to cut it." Dean shook his head and drank. "Not this time." Dean picked up the decanter and left to find solace in the solitude of his room.

Sam knew that Dean was right. 'Sorry' wouldn't cut it. But then, what would? How do you obtain forgiveness from a person who has no reason to give it? How do you ask for forgiveness when you don't even deserve it?


	5. Alone

I drew my fingers gently over the bandages around my wrists. Castiel had cleaned my wounds quietly and quickly, lead me back to the room I had taken after my arrival, and then left me to my own devices. I debated on trying to escape under cover of night when everyone was asleep but decided against it when I realized I had nowhere to go.

Sam and Dean still had my duffel with all my supplies and money so I couldn't escape and use the money to get far from the bunker. Leaving would be suicide especially if any other supernatural entities were aware of my presence here. I had a sinking suspicion that they would recognize me for what I was.

My musings of escape were interrupted by the voice, the one that had been keeping me company for the past week.

It cooed softly, like a concerned mother, in my ear. It asked me if I wanted to learn how to heal myself.

"Yes, please," I said softly, it had been teaching me many things during my solitude. It taught me how to listen to angel radio, how to tap into it and its different frequencies. It taught me the blood ritual to call on demons.

It told me to feel something deep down inside of me. Something semi-tangible. It told me to push the pain away so that I could find it.

And that's what I did. I pushed the physical pain away, I reached deep within myself and felt it: the grace of God, warm, soft, welcoming. Like a thousand down pillows filled with sunlight. I reached out and touched it. It enveloped me and ran over my skin like the soft breath of a summer breeze.

I opened my eyes. It didn't hurt anymore.

The bruises were gone. I undid the bandages, and the scars were gone, the cuts were sealed, the swelling went down.

"Thank you." I no longer had to battle the physical pain I'd been burdened with. But that was the extent of the healing power I'd been bestowed. My heart was still cold and empty as the vacuum of space, or rather the crushing mass of a black hole's singularity.

Despair and loneliness were not so easy to heal, and although the physical scars of my ordeal were gone the psychological ones remained.

The door to my room opened, and Sam Winchester walked in.

"How are you holding up—" Sam stopped and gaped wordlessly for a moment. "You're…healed?"

"Yes," I said simply.

He gave me a look.

"How?" Sam asked striving to sound patient.

I didn't owe him an explanation and something deep inside of me warned against ousting my invisible friend, so I lied. "I remember some things."

Sam looked surprised. "Really, like what?"

"I don't think it's any of your business." I said, "Are you going to torture me?" I asked bitterly. "It appears that's your modus operandi."

"Of course we aren't going to torture you," Sam sighed.

"Of course?" I asked, and Sam flinched.

"Look, I'm sorry about what we did to you. You didn't deserve it." Sam bit his lip. "Dean's sorry too, you know."

"Yeah," I nodded. "So am I."

Sam looked uncomfortable and frankly, lost like he didn't know what else to do. "Are you feeling better?" He asked.

I shrugged. Sam bit his lip again.

"C'mon. Let's get you out of this room." He finally said.

"What?" I didn't want to leave.

"You've been alone for too long. It's not healthy. Besides you've got to eat something." Sam insisted. "Dean makes a mean burger." His hopeful smile fell slowly when I made no move to leave. He stood up with a sigh and gently pulled me out of bed.

"Let's go," Sam ordered softly. I was too tired to fight him, so I didn't. He pulled me through the winding hallways until we reached the kitchen. Dean was busy over a stove flipping over beef patties. The smell of cooking meat made my mouth water.

"Do you want cheese on your burger, Sa—" Dean stopped when he realized I'd accompanied his brother into the kitchen.

"Do you mind making a burger for Avery?" Sam asked as he led me to an empty chair, which I took. Dean looked at me and then at Sam and then back at me.

"Yeah, sure." He nodded.

We sat in relative silence for some minutes while Dean fixed the burgers.

"So, you got Cas without any problems?" I broke the silence quietly.

"We met April," Sam shrugged. "Had a little confrontation, but nothing we haven't dealt with before."

I stared at Dean's back as I said, "Good, I was worried you would have more problems." Dean stiffened at my tone and his eyes narrowed. He must have realized that I knew about Ezekiel. I mean, Dean knew that I'd watched the show so he must've put two and two together by then.

"Well, we didn't," Dean said stiffly setting down a burger in front of me.

Sam looked at us. I picked up my burger and took a bite, staring at Dean.

"Okay then…" Sam said awkwardly drumming his fingers against the Formica.

I turned to Sam and stared right into his hazel eyes. "Ezekiel." Sam straightened, and his eyes turned blue for a moment.

Dean's eyes widened before he started glaring at me.

"You." Sam or rather Gadreel said. His voice was different, clipped.

"You know who I am?" I couldn't help but be stunned. Cas had no recollection of me or my kind, how did Gadreel know?

"I was there when my Father first conceived the idea to make you." Gadreel said.

My mind raced a million miles ahead. I wasn't expecting this. "Can you tell me more about what I am? About why I was sent to live in that other place?" I asked hurriedly; this was more than I'd ever hoped for. I'd initially planned on using Gadreel as leverage so that I could do as I pleased without Dean getting in the way, but maybe I could learn about this whole mess from Gadreel.

"I'm— sorry, I cannot." Gadreel looked uncomfortable and shot Dean a look

"Why not!" The glass in front of me shattered, and I jolted back.  _Did…did I do that?_

"I was…predisposed; busy working in my garrison. I had nothing to do with the vessels." Gadreel said. At that moment it struck me. He was lying. And I knew why. He'd been imprisoned in Heaven's jail ever since he let Lucifer into the Garden. He wouldn't know anything about me.

I pushed the disappointment down and turned back to Dean. "Fine. Well, now you know that I know about him." I jerked a thumb at Gadreel. "If you ever do anything to harm me" I started. "If you even breath on me the wrong way, I'll tell Sam." I threatened. "I'll tell him, and I won't even bat an eye when he kicks Zeke out, and his organs fail."

Dean gritted his teeth, and I crossed my arms.

"Why would you do that?" He growled.

"You're joking right?" I asked. Dean didn't speak. "I need leverage to make sure that you won't try and hurt me again. This way, I'll know." I shrugged. "You wouldn't ever hurt Sam."

"I would end you right now for even daring to threaten my family." Dean hissed.

Well… I should've been expecting that. I leaned back in my chair trying to put more distance between Dean and me subtly. "You wouldn't." I managed.

"Wouldn't I?" Dean asked. "I'll do anything to keep my brother safe."

"And what will your brother say when he finds out you killed a defenseless teenager? How will you explain yourself?" I placed my fingers over the shards of glass from my cup and slowly wrapped my fingers around the largest one.

"First off, you're not a teenager." Dean looked at me, and I bit my lip. He was right; I wasn't, not anymore at least. "Second, you're far from defenseless. We've seen you practicing your mojo."

"I'll just tell Sam that you threatened his life." Dean shrugged looking very confident.

"No," I shook my head. "Sam would never let that fly. He wouldn't let it go with, 'Sorry she threatened you, she had to go'. I don't believe it."

"You wanna bet?" Dean growled.

We both jumped when Gadreel smacked his fist on the table. "Enough! You will not kill the vessel."

"What?" Dean glared at him.

"She may be the only means of finding my Father. I will not let you kill her." Gadreel said.

His sentiment confused me. His father, God, had him locked away for all of eternity. Why would he want to find God?

"If you lay another finger on the vessel," Gadreel said. "I will leave, myself, and Sam will die."

"That wasn't a part of the deal!" Dean stood angrily.

"I've said my part." Gadreel nodded at me before he gave up control and Sam looked back at me instead, confused.

"Who?" He asked. He looked down at my hands, and his eyes widened. "What did you do? Are you alright?"

I looked down and realized I'd been gripping the glass too tightly. Blood was running freely across my palm, and I dropped the shard.

"Oops," I said softly as Sam rushed to grab a clean rag and wrap it around my palm. Dean glared at me, and I returned the glare until Sam glanced up at us still looking very confused. He looked like he wanted to ask what was going on but refrained. I was sure he'd bring it up with Dean later, which I was perfectly fine with.

Dean could do the damage control. It's not like he deserved to get out of this without some grief.

"You should finish your food." Sam urged. I'd still only taken one bite of my burger. I took another bite and made sure to smile at Dean.

"Mmm. Sam was right, you do make a killer burger." I said coldly. Dean looked at me stonily as I took another bite of my burger before he got up and left without a word.

"Dean!" Sam huffed as his brother left. "I'm sorry, sometimes Dean gets—" Sam let out an exasperated breath.

"Pissy?" I supplied. "Yeah, I get that." I finished what I could of my food, which was less than half, and got up to leave.

"You're done already?" Sam asked skeptically and stood with me.

"I'm full." I sighed when Sam gave me an incredulous look. "Honestly, I am."

He pursed his lips but conceded. "Alright." I gave him a small smile, which seemed to lift his spirits slightly. He probably still felt guilty for the way he dealt with me earlier.

I went to my room and fell back on my bed. I stared at the concrete supports that held the roof of my room up and contemplated life for several minutes before becoming bored. I sat up and leaned against my headboard.

_Now what?_

As if it could read my mind, my companion started whispering in my head. Asking if I wanted to take the next steps to realize my full power and potential. I nodded, glad for something to do to occupy my hours of solitude.

I could feel my companion smile in my head.  _Let's begin._

* * *

A week or so passed and nothing really happened. I woke up, showered, got dressed, and then headed towards the kitchen for breakfast. Sam would always be up before me, waiting with breakfast and Dean would still be sleeping off the half bottle of whiskey he drank the night before.

"His liver's going to explode if he keeps drinking like that," I said idly through a mouthful of toast one morning.

Sam shook his head. "Believe me, I've tried to get him to cut back but getting between Dean and his alcohol is like getting between a momma bear and her cub."

I snorted into my coffee at the mental picture of Dean as a mother bear. Things between the two of us were still unbelievably tense. I didn't know if it was because of the whole Gadreel thing or because I was finding it much harder to forgive Dean than Sam and Cas.

It felt more personal with Dean. Yeah sure, Cas and Sam had aided and abetted, but Dean was the one who took up the blade. Just knowing that made it hard to look him in the eyes. So I just tried to avoid him and made sure to stay out of his way. Eventually, we would come to some sort of an understanding, but right now everything was still too raw.

And so when he walked into the kitchen looking like hell with his dry, chapped lips and red puffy eyes, I made sure to make myself scarce.

When I wasn't having my secret mind lessons with  _him_  (I'd decided that the voice was a he) I was wandering around the bunker exploring all of the rooms. There was the shooting range, of course, the clinic, a billiard room, a gym, the garage, communal showers, kitchen, living quarters, tens of rooms all dedicated to records and files, the library, armory, a strange room that reminded me of a museum exhibit with strange artifacts in bulletproof glass, and still plenty more that I hadn't even looked into yet.

I eventually wandered back to the main room sometime around lunch and found Sam sorting through something in a plastic bag.

"Hey, where have you been?" Sam greeted me putting the bag down.

"Just…wandering." I shrugged. "What's that?"

Sam glanced back down at the bag and smiled a little. "Dean brought some  _Game of Thrones_ for us to watch tonight."

I snorted, and Sam looked at me almost defensively. "What?"

"No nothing, it's just that… Sam and Dean Winchester having a night into binge watch some TV." I smiled softly. "It's nice. You guys are usually all depressed and angsty, trying to save the world and each other from some new terrible thing."

"We're not always hunting monsters you know." Sam quirked an eyebrow at me.

"Well on the TV show you are," My smile fell. "Then again, having a relaxing night in doesn't make for good television, does it?"

"I guess not." Sam shrugged putting the DVDs back in the bag.

"What have you been up to then?" I asked hesitantly taking a seat at the map table.

Sam brightened. "Well, Cas has wanted to go out to try and find angels to, you know, help them acclimate and all, and Kevin said that this table lit up like the fourth of July when the angels fell."

"Okay," I nodded.

"Well, that means that this bunker can track angel activity, right? So if we find whatever controls this bad boy," He tapped the table. "We can program it to look out for angels, and then Cas can go out and find them."

I pursed my lips and looked up at Sam. "Do you really think Cas is up for that?"

"What do you mean? It was his idea." Sam frowned.

I sighed and ran my fingers through my hair. "Listen, Sam. Cas, he's only been human for what, a couple of weeks now? I don't think he knows how to handle himself while he's so…vulnerable." I explained.

Sam gave me a disbelieving look. "Cas is a warrior angel, Avery. Even If he is human now, he has thousands of years of battle experience under his belt. I pretty sure he can handle himself." He chuckled.

"You're not listening, Sam." I shook my head. "Cas doesn't have the strength he used to have. He  _feels_  now. I know-" I cut Sam off before he could object. "Cas has had feelings for a long time, but not like this. He feels everything much more acutely and not just emotions, but pain."

I stood up. "It must be overwhelming. Especially since his brethren are out there, in the cold, lost and confused. Especially when it's his fault."

Sam frowned.

"Sam, Cas is going up against fully powered angels that are  _pissed_ as hell. They lost their home, their wings. If they saw Cas in an alley, they would kill him before he could even blink." I shrugged at him.

"I'm just saying that maybe, Cas should try and leave the angel situation be for a while. At least until we can figure out how to get his mojo back." I offered.

Sam nodded. "So instead of trying to track and assist maybe just, track and avoid?" Sam scratched his neck. "I haven't told Cas about the table yet, so there won't be any harm done."

I nodded. "Have you found out what controls this yet?"

Sam smiled. "Oh yeah."

* * *

I followed Sam into the darkened room and winced when he flicked the lights on. My eyes quickly adjusted to the light and I gave a low whistle at the size of the machine that took up most of the room.

"Crazy right?" Sam grinned. "Check this out." He led me over to the main console. Someone had pulled the back panel off and exposed the insides. My eyes flickered to a dusty shelf along the back wall nervously. Dean had already inadvertently released Dorothy and the Wicked Witch.

"I didn't find it hooked up to anything, no wires or a discernable power source." Sam shined a flashlight into the machine illuminating the complex wiring.

"Did you call Charlie yet?" I asked keeping my eyes on the back wall.

"How did you know we called her?" Sam asked perturbed.

"I watch the show, remember?" I sighed.

Sam grimaced. "Right. Yeah, she's on her way."

"And, uh, Dean…" I bit my lip. "Where is he at?"

Sam gave me an understanding look. "Picking up Charlie."

I nodded and suddenly found my shoes very interesting. I felt a hand rest on my shoulder, and I looked up at Sam's hazel eyes. "Dean is sorry you know."

"Yeah, I know," I muttered.

"We don't mean you any harm," Sam assured me. I pulled away from him and rubbed my arm.

"Yeah, you don't  _mean_ me any harm. That doesn't mean I  _won't_ get harmed." I said pointedly.

Sam's face pinched with guilt, and I immediately felt bad for saying what I did, even if I was right. "You have my word that Dean, Cas, and I won't harm you," Sam said with conviction. "At least not directly." He amended when I cocked an eyebrow.

"Dean doesn't like me," I said. Sam sighed and shook his head.

"You don't know that."

"Trust me," I laughed bitterly. "I do."

"I know Dean can seem…hostile." Sam managed, and I scoffed.  _Hostile_ was too kind a word. "But he really does mean well. I'm sure if you two just got to know each other better, you'd get along great."

"I guess," I mumbled noncommittally.

"I'm just asking you to give him a chance is all," Sam said carefully.

I shrugged, and Sam gave a small smile. "It'll be fine, I promise." I shot the shelf one last look.

"Don't make promises you can't keep."


	6. I'll Be Good

Sam and I were sitting at the map table when Charlie and Dean walked into the bunker. Cas was keeping watch on Kevin while Kevin started working on the angel tablet.

"Charlie!" Sam grinned and stood to greet the redhead.

"Hey, Sam." She smiled and hugged him while I watched awkwardly from afar. I felt like an intruder. Their family was already established, and I was the stranger, the outsider peeking in.

"Who's this?" Charlie mumbled to Sam while shooting me a friendly smile. One that I felt like I didn't deserve.

"Um, Avery." I gave her a small wave that turned into an awkward back-of-neck scratch when I realized that waving was stupid.

"It's cool meeting you." Charlie smiled confidently. I sensed that the only reason she was so confident was that of how  _not_  confident I was.

"What have you been up to?" Sam asked.

"Oh the usual," Charlie shrugged. "You know, LARPing, getting fired from my job, hunting…"

"You got fired?" Sam gaped at the same time that Dean said angrily, "You're hunting?" Charlie winced. "Yeah, turns out my boss was outsourcing child labor, so I took a big wiki leak all over that."

"Hold up, rewind." Dean crossed his arms. "What's this about hunting?"

"Well since I was out of a job, I decided to put my monster knowledge to use." She shuffled uneasily. "You know, do some good."

Sam gave Dean a worried look, and I sank back down into my seat. "How was it, are you okay?" He asked.

Charlie nodded a bit while her eyes glazed over. "It was…intense." She shook her head and smiled sadly. "But, I kinda wish that hunting was… I dunno, more magical."

Dean rolled his eyes, and I glared at him for dismissing Charlie like that. She flushed and mumbled, "Never mind, where's this Commodore 64 of yours?"

Sam led her to the computer room, and Charlie's face lit up with awe. "Sweet Ada Lovelace." Charlie strode up to the machine and ran her hands over the control panel lovingly. "This thing belongs in a museum!"

"Can you get it to track angels?" Sam asked. Charlie frowned and fiddled with the wiring before nodding slowly.

"Let me see what I can do." She cracked her knuckles, pulled her tablet out of her messenger bag, and got to work.

"I'll be right back, bathroom," I announced to the group. They nodded absently, far too busy with the computer to pay much attention to me. I slipped away and made my way back to the garage where I knew I would find Dorothy's motorbike. I wanted to take care of this witch problem before anyone could get caught in the crossfire, namely Charlie. If Gadreel didn't have to heal her then he could save his strength and Sam would recover more quickly.

I flicked the lights on and squinted against the sudden bright lights before my eyes found the bike tucked away a couple of rows down the lot. I gave a sigh of relief and quickly made my way towards it and grabbed the canvas saddlebag.

I stuck my hand into it and pulled out a red heel. "Bingo." My blood froze when I heard a low hiss come from behind me. I spun around to face the hag and dove out of the way when she sent a plasma ball of magic hurtling towards me. I had only had time thrust my palms outwards in a knee-jerk attempt to protect myself when another ball of energy came hurtling towards me and… ricocheted into the wall?

The witch gave a startled hiss and my eyes focused on the faint almost imperceptible shield I had erected in front of me before it fizzled out.  _How did I do that?_ I scrambled to my feet and tried to ignore my pounding heart and my confusion as the witch readied herself to launch another green projectile.

"Stop!" I said. "I know where it is."

The witch's hands came back down to her sides slowly, energy still crackling around her fingers.

"You want the key…" I swallowed. "To Oz, right? I have it."

The witch raised her arm again, and I quickly added. "Not on me! In my room. I can take you there."

She hissed at me again but nodded. With a jerk of her head and a threatening thrust of her palm, she ordered me forward. I was glad that I was able to hide the heel before she saw it. I knew that if the witch had seen it, she wouldn't have hesitated to kill me, even if I did know where the key was.

I led her away from the main rooms where I knew the others would still be and hoped to draw her far enough away so that when it did turn into a fight, nobody got caught in the crossfire. I only could hope that I would beat her. She gave me a shove, and I pressed on.

* * *

"Where's Avery?"

"What?" Dean's head snapped up, and he could feel the glare creep over his face.

"Avery," Sam repeated. "Where is she?"

Charlie stopped stripping one of the wires and looked up. "I thought she said something about a bathroom?"

Sam crossed his arms and frowned at Dean who was still glaring stonily at the mere mention of the girl. "Yeah but that was a while ago wasn't it?"

"She's fine Sam." Dean snapped. "She's a big girl now. I think she can go hit the head without you having to follow her around like a mother hen."

"What's your problem, Dean?" Sam asked shooting his brother a bitch face.

Dean bit his tongue before laughing bitterly and shaking his head. "Nothing."

"It sure doesn't seem like nothing." Sam scoffed. Charlie cleared her throat drawing the feuding men's attention.

"Is everything…okay?" She asked awkwardly.

"It's fine." Dean bit out. Sam's jaw clenched in frustration before he pointed to the door and gave Dean a ' _let's talk in private'_ look. Dean rolled his eyes but followed his brother out regardless.

"You've been at Avery's throat all week. What's going on with you?" Sam demanded after they had stepped out and closed the door behind them.

"I have  _not_ been at her throat all week," Dean assured his brother. "Hell, I've barely even seen her this week."

"You know what I mean Dean." Sam rolled his eyes. "You're making her feel unwelcome, and after your whole spiel about how bad you felt for hurting her, you'd think you'd try and make amends."

Dean scowled at his brother. "I can't help it if she doesn't want to hear my apologies. I don't blame her. Besides, it's more than that…"

Sam frowned at his brother and crossed his arms. "What do you mean?"

Dean's features grew stony again as he thought back to Avery's threats. Then again the more he thought about it, the more it made sense. Avery perceived him, his brother, and Castiel as threats. If she could hold something over their heads to ensure no more harm came to her then why wouldn't she? It was something he would do.

But despite that, it stilled pissed him off that someone threatened his brother and tried to strong-arm him in the same breath. Half of it was brotherly protectiveness and the other half pride. No one would tell Dean Winchester what to do, especially not some entitled brat from another universe.

"Fine don't tell me, but you'd be surprised about Avery," Sam said. "I think she's ready to forgive you like she's forgiven us, but you have to take the first step."

"Yeah, whatever." Dean moved to go to the kitchen and grab a beer when he heard a scream and the sound of metal against metal echo distantly through the bunker. It was so faint he thought he might have imagined it. "Did you hear that?" He asked his brother who had frozen as well.

Sam nodded. "I think it came from the garage."

"How much do you want to bet that Avery knocked something over?" Dean gave an annoyed sigh. Sam frowned at him.

"I don't know. Avery isn't really that clumsy." Sam shot a worried glance down the hallway, and Dean sighed.

"Fine, fine. I'll go— check on her." He said it as if it caused him physical pain, but Sam grinned triumphantly. "Shut up." Dean scowled, and Sam raised his hands in surrender before Dean stalked off towards the source of the commotion.

Dean was not thrilled to be having some one on one time with Avery. He had actually been relieved when the girl actively avoided him the past week. Despite his disdain for her he still couldn't swallow the guilt that haunted his nights. And having less face time with her made it easier to deal with. He didn't know what he would do if he had to face her every day, there was only so much whiskey in the world.

Dean pushed open the door to the garage and frowned when he found it empty. He could have sworn he had heard the clatter coming from here. His frown turned into a scowl when he caught sight of a vintage bike that had been knocked over.

"I knew it." He propped the bike up and grumbled at Avery under his breath for not cleaning up behind herself when he paused. There was a black scorch mark near the back wheel that rubbed him the wrong way. He didn't know what could have caused it.

"What the—?" He frowned when he dragged his fingers over the spot and found that the soot came up easily. It was fresh. Dean glanced at the floor around him and gave a curious 'humph' when he found what he was looking for. Scuff marks near the door Avery must have left through. He stood and followed the hallway down deeper into the bowels of the bunker where Avery had disappeared into.

* * *

I quickened my pace as I went further and further into the bunker. We were down far enough that we probably wouldn't be discovered if something went sideways and deep enough that the hag would probably get lost trying to find her way back. Hell,  _I_ would get lost trying to find my way back had I not already explored the bunker extensively myself.

The hag hissed behind me and threw me into the wall.

" _Where is it!_ " Her voice reverberated in my skull painfully. I held my hands up carefully only allowing a fraction of my brainpower to marvel at the fact that she was telepathic.

"It's in this room right here, okay?" I said slowly. "No need to get violent. It's in a safe. I'll open it for you."

The hag sneered at me and pushed me through the door. I bit back my annoyance.  _Nobody_  pushed me around and came out of it Scott free. I shifted the strap of the bag on my shoulder and approached the safe. Angling my body so that I could slip my hand into the bag without her noticing. I played with the dial to make it seem that I was actually opening the safe and then, quick as I could, I launched myself at the hag pointy part of the heel first.

The only problem was that the hag was gone. I spun around, red heel held aloft, but the witch was nowhere to be found. I suddenly felt a hand wrap around my throat and pull me up into the air. The witch slammed me into the wall knocking the breath out of my lungs and her fingers crackled with energy searing into my neck.

I screeched in pain and dropped the heel to instead use my hands to pull the witch's fingers from my throat, to no avail. Black spots erupted in front of my eyes, and I thought for a moment that I was going to die when a gunshot reverberated throughout the small room.

I fell to my knees and gasped as the witch hissed angrily at her attacker ready to launch more green bolts. I looked up to identify my savior and recoiled with shock to see that it was Dean.

"Come get it, bitch!" He growled, and the witch responded with a volley of energy, which Dean dodged. I dove for the heel and wrapped my fingers around it triumphantly as Dean unloaded his gun into the witch who barely even flinched.

I stood up and buried the heel into her chest while she was distracted and watched as she wilted like a dry flower and slowly disintegrated. We stood silently for a moment before I looked up at Dean who was glowering at me.

"Are you okay?" I winced at how hoarse my voice was and at how much it hurt to speak.

"Oh, peachy." He snarked. "Care to explain what all that was about?"

"You accidentally freed the Wicked Witch of the West when you knocked into that shelf in the computer room," I explained quietly, I tried to quell the tremors running up and down my body.

Dean blinked at me. "What?"

"I wanted to take care of it myself because things went south pretty quick the last time around," I said. "I didn't want anyone to get hurt."

"Well so much for that plan." Dean scoffed.

I felt my brows furrow with guilt. "Oh no, did she get you?" I took a step forward without thinking but caught myself. Dean's eyes widened in surprise.

"No. No. I'm fine." He held his hands up. "I meant you."

My hand went up to my neck where the skin was scorched. "Oh, right. I can fix it." I took a deep breath and pulled my grace up from within me a tried focusing it on my burns. I struggled to get a hold onto it initially but managed to drag it to my wound. The familiar warm feeling enveloped my neck before fading away leaving me as good as new.

"Holy shit." Dean gaped at me. "How long have you been able to do that?"

"Um, a week maybe?" I said sheepishly.

Dean frowned at me and took a step closer to examine my neck. "To bad about the scar."

"I scarred?" I ran my fingers over my neck but could only feel smooth skin.

"Yeah, right here." Dean's finger ghosted over my neck near my collarbone, and I immediately blushed.

Dean realized how close he had gotten and quickly moved away while clearing his throat. "Don't ever try to deal with a situation like this yourself again." He said sternly to make up for the almost tender moment we had just shared. "Next time you won't get so lucky."

I tried not to wince at his tone. "Would you have rather had me put the rest of you guys in danger?" I said almost accusingly.

Dean scoffed. "We can take care of ourselves, Avery. You, on the other hand, have never been in a single fight your entire life. Especially not against monsters."

"How do you know?" I glared.

"Am I wrong?" He bit back. My flush gave me away, and he nodded smugly.

I clenched my jaw. "I'm not gonna sit on my ass and watch the three of you make the same damn mistakes. Not if I can help it."

Dean crossed his arms. "Then don't. Tell us where and when we screw the pooch so we can fix it before it happens."

I paled and licked my suddenly dry lips. "I—I don't think I'm allowed."

Dean's eyes narrowed. "Says who?"

The voice had warned me during my lessons that changing too much and telling the Winchesters too much could lead to catastrophic consequences. I didn't want to leave the Winchesters in worse shape then when I came.

"Nobody." I shrugged. "I just don't to want to tear the space-time continuum, that's all."

"Yeah, okay." He scoffed before staring at me again. "We should head back. Sam's probably losing his mind with worry right about now."

"Yeah." I nodded. "Okay."

"And you are going to explain that whole wicked witch thing to me too." He added leading the way back. I rolled my eyes at him but conceded.

"Sure thing."

* * *

Sam watched as Dorothy (Yes,  _that_ Dorothy) paced around the room anxiously. Charlie was still staring up at her in awe. She had been absolutely thrilled when she found out that Oz was real but Sam could only focus on the two people who had been missing for quite some time now.

"Where are they?" He sighed anxiously. "They should have been back by now."

"Wouldn't be surprised if the witch got to them. She's damn powerful." Dorothy mumbled. "We have to find that key before she does."

"This place is huge," Sam said. "I wouldn't even know where to start."

Sam rubbed his face trying to think if he could remember the odd little wooden key that Dorothy had shown them a picture of. "If anyone could find it, it would be Dean. He was the one that sorted through most of this stuff when we got here."

"Well, that's no use to us if he's dead," Dorothy said plainly.

"Dean is not dead." Sam glowered at her. Dorothy held up her hands as if in surrender and continued her pacing.

"Not today at least."

Sam almost flew out of his seat at the sound of his brother's voice. "You're okay." He sighed in relief. Avery was trailing behind him sheepishly. Sam frowned when he caught the faintest outline of a hand near her collarbone.

"You're not." Sam immediately examined the faint scar.

"I'm fine." She assured him blushing faintly.

"Who's this?" Dean asked mistrustfully when Dorothy walked up to see the two newcomers.

"You won't believe it, Dean." Sam started. "This is Dorothy. Like from The Wizard of Oz, Dorothy."

Dean quirked an eyebrow. "Well, I just ganked the wicked witch, so it's not  _that_  hard to believe."

"You killed the witch?" Dorothy gaped.

"Um, excuse me. If I remember correctly I was the one that killed the witch." Avery crossed her arms.

"And if I remember correctly," Dean bit back. "If I hadn't been there the witch would've killed you."

"Does it matter?" Sam asked barely suppressing a smile. The two seemed to be getting along much better than they had all week.

Dean shook his head. "Whatever. The Witch was looking for some sort of key to Oz."

"Yes," Dorothy nodded excitedly. "Do you know where it is?"

"I don't even know what it looks like, doll face," Dean smirked. Sam grabbed the photo and shoved it under Dean's nose.

"Have you seen anything like this?" Sam asked. A flicker of recognition crossed Dean's face and he nodded.

"I think I know exactly where this is."

* * *

I watched almost sadly as Dorothy and Charlie crossed into Oz and disappeared.

"Do you think she'll be all right?" I asked Sam. He shrugged his shoulders and said, "I sure hope so, Avery."

"So now what?" I asked him.

"We go hunting." I turned to look at Dean who had crossed his arms.

"I'm going on a hunt?" I asked surprised.

"Absolutely not." He scoffed. "Sam and I are going on a hunt."

"Why can't I go?" I asked indignantly.

Dean quirked an eyebrow at me. "Because you can't handle yourself, that's why. You don't know how to fight and I can't and won't babysit you."

"I'm a liability. That's what you're saying." I said angrily.

"Yes." He nodded. And I scowled at him.

"Well, then teach me how to fight! I already know all about the lore." I told him.

"You want me to teach you how to fight?" Dean asked incredulously.

I shrank back at the thought of having to 'fight club' with Dean. "Or Sam…Sam could teach me." I offered weakly.

Dean shook his head, but Sam jumped in. "No, she's right."

"I am?" I repeated astonished.

"She should learn how to fight." Sam nodded. "Maybe she shouldn't go hunting— yet." He added when I went to interrupt indignantly.

"So you'll teach her?" Dean asked.

"We'll teach her." Sam corrected crossing his arms. Dean looked like he was going to complain but Sam shot him a look, and he huffed in defeat.

"Fine, whatever." Dean stalked off, but I couldn't suppress the grin that had spread across my cheeks. This was what I had needed. Purpose.

I was going to be a huntress.


	7. Chapter 7

My eyes fluttered open, and I sat up my heart pounding. My hair was matted to my cheeks, and I was sitting in a pool of blood. Bodies stacked around me.

My mother, my father, Sam, Dean, Lucy, and several others I couldn't recognize.

"No." My voice broke, and bile rose into my throat. I tried to wipe the blood from my face, but I only made it worse. My Mother's face turned towards me, and her eyes opened. Her mouth didn't move, but I could hear her speak.

" _You did this."_

"No!" I held my hands over my ears to stop the accusations. Dean spoke next.

_"It's all your fault."_

_"Monster."_

_"Monster."_

The voices of the dead screamed at me and reverberated in my skull, and the blood crept towards me pooling in my eyes and mouth. I couldn't breathe.

"No Please!" I choked through it as hands started pulling at me. "I'm sorry! Please!"

"WAKE UP!"

I sat up in bed gasping and shaking through my tears. I was sweating and tangled in my sheets. My hair was matted to my face but with sweat this time instead of blood. And it was Dean's hands on my shoulders not the cold dead ones of the people that had died in my dream. Had died because of me.

"I'm fine." Was the first thing to make it past the knot in my throat.

Dean scoffed. "Yeah, of course you are." I wiped away my tears still trembling violently; I could still fell the phantom warm stickiness of blood on my skin.

"What was the dream about?" He asked me. I looked up at him surprised that he cared but then realized he was probably just curious.

"Nothing," I muttered trying not to wince at the way my voice broke.

"That was a hell of a lot of screaming for nothing," Dean said skeptically. His eyes shifted to his hands which were clenched into fists.

"Yeah well…" I trailed off as the sweat began to cool against my skin and sent another wave of shivers down my body.

Dean bit his lip and shut his eyes tightly as if it was taking all of his willpower to say something. "It— it wasn't about me was it?"

I frowned at him. "What? Why would you think— Oh." I suddenly realized why he'd asked. He thought I was having a dream about him torturing me. Dean looked away stony-faced, but he couldn't quite manage to mask the guilt etched on his features.

"Yeah, I guess I see why you'd think that," I muttered.

"I know…I know I'm an ass sometimes." Dean sighed drawing his hands over his face. I scoffed, and he rolled his eyes. "Okay, a lot. But I am sorry for what I did."

"I don't really think about it," I told him before adding, "or I try not to…If that helps."

Dean gave me a strange look. "Why would you care if it helps? If it had been the other way around, I would want you to feel every ounce of guilt."

I fidgeted and played with a fraying hem of my sheets. "I dunno, I mean you didn't torture me just to be malicious, I don't think, I think you were just scared," Dean bristled a little at being described as such, but I ignored it.

"You were scared, and you wanted to make sure I wasn't a threat. I get that." I shrugged a little and Dean looked at me bewildered and a little ashamed. "Are you saying you forgive me for torturing you because I didn't 'do it to be mean?'"

"Yeah, I guess. I mean what you did was wrong, really wrong and it sucked." I said scoffing at the understatement of the century. "But I don't blame you for the why, just that you did it." With every second that passed that he remained silent, I grew more and more uncomfortable.

I cleared my throat awkwardly. "I'm going to go back to bed."

Dean nodded quickly and stood up jerkily. "Yeah, okay. Me too." He opened his mouth to say something but then shook his head and turned away like he had thought better of it. He stopped when he reached the door and without turning said, "Goodnight."

I didn't have a chance to say anything back before he was gone.

* * *

"Again." Dean barked, and I fumbled with the pieces of the handgun that sat disassembled in front of me. We had been training for hours putting the gun together and then taking it apart over and over again.

"Too slow." Dean shook his head after glancing at his watch. I fought the urge to throw the half-assembled gun at him. We hadn't spoken about the night he found me having the nightmare since it happened. And I was glad. But that didn't make him any less infuriating.

"Why does it matter how fast I can put a gun together?" I gritted out in frustration.

"Because this helps you understand how a gun works and how to fix it if it doesn't." Dean scowled at my tone.

"Oh, I'll show you how a gun works…" I threatened under my breath.

"I think it's time for a break." Sam interrupted from his corner of the room. "And you seem pretty solid on lore so we should probably start training you up."

"You're going to teach me how to fight?" I perked up my annoyance fading instantly.

"Not quite," Sam smiled apologetically. "It doesn't matter if you're a master in martial arts, you won't be able to hold your own without a good physical base."

"How do you mean?" I asked warily.

"You need to put some muscle on those chicken wings, kid." Dean translated, and I scowled. "Screw you."

"You wish." He bit back, and I growled through the faint blush on my cheeks. I didn't know why but every time Dean made any sexual innuendo it made me super uncomfortable and I hated that I was always the blushing at the slightest vulgarity like a Victorian lady.

"Dean's right." Sam shrugged. "You need to start working out if you want to keep up."

"All right, what do you suggest?" I asked him. Sam smiled widely, and Dean snorted. I suddenly got the feeling that I was going to get more than I bargained for. 

* * *

Two hours later I was breathing hard, droplets of sweat ran down my temples and stung my eyes. Each muscle was aching and quivering from fatigue. Sam, on the other hand, looked exhilarated.

"C'mon you have to keep up!" He smiled jogging ahead of me back to the bunker. He had decided that I had to build up endurance and stamina first and so the several miles run around the perimeter of the bunker ensued.

"Please, break…can't breathe." I gasped letting myself bend over at the waist my hands resting on my knees.

He circled back around and gave me a few sharp pats on the back knocking the wind out of my lungs. "You'll be fine."

"You're an animal." I groaned, and he laughed.

"C'mon, we're almost back." He urged me. I let out a pitiful moan. "And as a reward, we can relax and watch Game of Thrones." He finished in a singsongy voice, and I lifted my head weakly. Sam was smiling wide, dimples and all and my heart melted a little. Who could deny him of anything with those dimples?

"Okay," I sighed. "I'm coming, but we're walking," I added firmly. "No more of this running nonsense."

Sam chuckled, and I fell into place beside him. We walked in companionable silence all the way back. And it felt nice.

That was how I spent the next month. When I wasn't working out with Sam, I was practicing my sharpshooting and other weapons with Dean. Cas, Sam, and Dean each took turns teaching me hand to hand combat, and when I wasn't doing that, I was working with Kevin on the tablet and any other lore the boys needed when they went on hunts.

And they did go on hunts.

It was always the same when I asked if I could go.

"You're not ready."

I wasn't ready for the vampire nest in Kentucky or the Wendigo in Minnesota, not even the salt and burn in Jersey. When the boys were off on hunts was when I was loneliest and when I was the most bored. I would spend most of my time with Cas because Kevin got pissy when he was trying to work, and I got in the way.

"Hey Cas, what are you up to?"

"Dean showed me this website called 'Netflix'? It's a conglomeration of television programs and films that you can watch when it suits you." He told me cocking his head to the side.

I felt a smile tug at my lips. "You're watching Netflix?"

"No," He frowned. "I'm watching 'House of Cards'. Netflix is just the place that I am watching it on." Cas corrected.

Well, he wasn't wrong…technically.

"It's really very intriguing. The main character seems to know that I am watching him, although he never listens to my advice." Castiel grumbled.

"He can't really see you Cas." I laughed. "It's just a tool that the show uses to help make the people watching feel more involved. That way you root for Underwood to win, no matter how terrible he really is."

Cas frowned at me and then back at the screen, and then back to me. "Interesting." He muttered.

I sensed I wasn't going to get much more out of him while he was in the middle of a binge, so I decided to practice my shooting in the firing range. When I got tired of that, I went for a run and worked out. And when I had finished that I laid down on my bed and stared at the ceiling.

_Hello_

"Hey," I mumbled back. "It's been a while."

_You've been busy._

I could feel the smile on its words.

"Well yeah," I frowned. "What else am I going to do but assimilate? It doesn't seem like I'll ever find my way back. Plus," I sighed. "There's nothing left to go back to."

_What about Lucy?_

My eyebrows furrowed. "What about her?"

_You still don't remember._

I sat up. "Remember what?" I jumped when I felt the feather light touch of fingers against my cheek. Colors flooded my vision, and I gasped when I found myself in a foreign room decorated with deep blues and dark mahogany.

_"Can you really help me?" A man that looked suspiciously like Robert Downey Jr. asked me. He was wringing his hands nervously, and his eyes looked sad and tired._

_"_ No." My mouth moved like I was being controlled by a puppeteer. "But I know someone who can." I saw my face in a mirror and reared back in my mind. I looked like I was thirty or forty years old. I could even see a few wisps of graying hair dusted over my blonde waves.

" _Who?" He asked desperately. "How?"_

 _"_ You need to understand, Alastair, that there will be consequences for what you're about to do. Time travel isn't something that should be taken lightly. And transporting my friend here isn't something that should be taken lightly either. Giving her your magic could have serious side effects." I warned him. I couldn't understand what I was talking about. Who this man was or what I meant by giving 'her' magic.

_"I lost everything in the War. So many people lost everything. So many children," He choked. "Dead."_

I frowned at him.

" _I'll do anything."_

 _"_ Very well," I conceded. "Do you have a plan?"

_Alastair smiled, and it looked like his first genuine smile in a long time. "Yes."_

I took a deep breath through my nostrils as the colors faded away, and I found myself back in my room in the bunker.

"What was that?" I asked trembling. It felt so vivid, so real.

 _A memory._ The voice spoke.  _You sent Lucy to a universe in which Harry Potter is real,_

I snorted loudly and then frowned. "You're kidding right?"

_Alastair was a friend, a good one. How could you deny him?_

"Harry Potter? Are you serious?" My jaw dropped. "I sent Lucy into Harry Potter?" It was the second most ridiculous thing I'd ever heard in my life, second only to me finding out I was in Supernatural. And the more I thought about it, the less ridiculous it sounded.

"Of course I sent her into freaking Harry Potter." I shook my head in disbelief. I frowned as I thought about what my Harry Potter self said to Alastair.

"She's alright, isn't she? In the memory I said stuff about consequences is— is she alright?" Guilt started to pool in my stomach at the thought of harm coming to her. She didn't deserve being dragged away from her life. I only hoped she did it willingly.

The voice didn't say anything, and my heart dropped.

"Tell me she's okay," I demanded.

_There were complications._

"She isn't dead," I said flatly, she couldn't be. I thought about the nightmare and Lucy's cold eyes staring at me as blood pooled under her chin.

" _Monster,"_

_"You did this."_

_No, but she will be._

I jumped up and started pacing. "Take me to her," I demanded.

_I can't_

"What do you mean you can't?" I snapped. "Take me to the Harry Potter world. Show me how to fix it."

_That's not how this works_

"Then show me how it works!" I snarled.

_We'll have to meet in person._

That surprised me. I didn't think the voice was a real person, with a body and stuff. The fact that it was raised a whole new slew of questions especially how in the hell it was communicating with me and why.

"Okay. When?" I nodded.

_It can't be here. The bunker is warded against me. I can only be invited in, and I don't want to be. Those Winchesters are more trouble than they're worth._

I bit my lip. "I'll try to go on a hunt. Maybe meet up with you while they're busy killing whatever. They won't let me go to the actual showdown."

_Very well._

* * *

"When will I be ready?" I asked one day, frustration leaking into my voice. I had tried everything to convince the boys, but it wasn't working. I didn't know what I was going to do. Lucy was in trouble, and I couldn't help her.

"When I say you are." Dean snapped back. I gritted my teeth and held back the slew of curses I wanted to hurl at him. Dean drove me absolutely insane sometimes. I got on fine with Sam and the others, but Dean? Dean knew exactly what buttons to push to drive me up the freaking wall. He was always so superior and condescending.

"I can take care of myself, Dean." I gritted out. Sam shook his head sensing another screaming match on the horizon.

"You really can't." Dean scoffed. "You've only been training a month. Sam and I have been hunting for years, kid."

"I'm not a kid." I bit out defiantly. "I stopped being a kid when I found the only person that ever cared about me dead in my house."

The room became heavy with loaded silence as the truth of my comment hit home. My eyes stung, but I absolutely refused to shed any more tears, to show any more signs of weakness. My face remained stony and unaffected.

"Besides," I continued. "I know about this hunt. It was on the show." I knew the second that I heard Enid Oklahoma and 'dude was a human pretzel' that this was my chance.

The boys looked at me surprised almost as if they had forgotten I knew about the 'future'. Sam bit his lip, and Dean shot him a 'you've got to be kidding me' look when he saw Sam's resolve faltering.

Dean rolled his eyes in exasperation. "Fine, you can come along."

My heart leapt in my chest. "Really?" I hadn't expected Dean to give in.

"Just make sure you don't get in the way all right?" He said before turning towards the kitchen for a beer.

Sam crossed his arms and gave me a small smile. "That's 'Dean' for don't get hurt."

"What happened to him, Sam?" I frowned. "He wasn't like this before. He wasn't supposed to be this…volatile."

Sam shrugged. "He's always had a lot on his shoulders, Aves. We both have."

"I dunno, I just thought he'd be different. On the show," I smiled a little. "He was the more carefree one, and you were the one with the stick up his ass."

"Hey!" Sam shoved me, and I almost toppled over. The guy always seemed to forget that he was several times larger and stronger than me.

I laughed at him the smile not quite reaching my eyes and Sam sighed a little sadly. "To tell you the truth, I'm not sure why he's been so explosive. I think that maybe, after everything that happened to you," Sam swallowed his eyebrows pinching together. "It brought back some memories of things he's not proud of. And with the angels convincing all those poor saps to say yes. He feels like he has to save the world; from heaven, from hell."

"I'm sorry my being here did this," I said softly. If I weren't this-this thing, Dean would have never felt like I was a threat to his only family. The only stable thing in his life that he could always rely on, he wouldn't be haunted by his mistakes in hell. And Lucy wouldn't be wherever she is.

Sam frowned at me. "Don't be sorry for things you can't control and aren't your fault. If anything, it's good that you're here. Dean might not show it, but…he cares for you."

I laughed.

"No really. I'm not kidding." Sam told me. "Do you think Dean would train you half as hard as he does if he didn't care? Why do you think he doesn't want you to come along? Why  _we_  don't want you to come along?"

My eyebrows furrowed.

Sam shrugged. "Just think on that the next time you jump to conclusions about Dean." Sam followed his brother out, and I was left rethinking everything Dean had done in the past month. Seeing it in a new light.

The moments that could almost be called tender that we shared after the witch attacked me and after my nightmare. Maybe Dean did care.

Well, if he did, he had a really funny way of showing it.


	8. I Hate to Love You

Dean glanced up at his rearview mirror for the fifth time in last hour to check on Avery who was out cold in the backseat breathing softly. She had fallen asleep at around hour two of the trip. She had kicked off her boots before putting up her feet against the Impala's door and leaning against the opposite window, her arms crossed around her waist.

"What do you keep looking at?" Sam asked him after his sixth glance.

"Nothing," Dean grumbled. Sam quirked a skeptical brow before giving a short laugh.

"She's fine, you know? You don't have to worry."

Dean's jaw tensed under his stubbled skin. "She's been having nightmares, okay. I just wanted to make sure…"

Sam's eyebrows furrowed. "Nightmares? About what?"

"She never told me," Dean answered. Sam looked over his shoulder at the resting girl and frowned.

She shifted slightly, and her head lolled onto her shoulder, her blonde hair cascading over her face gently. She looked very peaceful contrary to Dean's concern. In fact, it was the most relaxed Sam had ever seen Avery, She was usually tense and skittish. Not as much as she was when she first arrived but still to some degree. Especially whenever Dean was around.

"Whatever she hasn't had a nightmare in a while, or at least I don't think she has." Dean continued.

"You should ask her about it." Sam insisted, and Dean looked at him like he had grown another head.

"Me?" He asked as if to make sure he had heard correctly. Sam rolled his eyes.

"Yes, you. You're the one that knows about her nightmares. You're the one she's opened up to about this. You should be the one to follow up and make sure she's okay." Sam told him. Sometimes Sam wondered if his brother was really that obtuse or if he feigned it to get out of potentially uncomfortable situations.

"Listen, Sam, you know me. I'm no good at this—" Dean gestured to the empty space around him in search of the right words. "—touchy-feely crap. You on the other hand." He looked at his brother pointedly. "You flash her your puppy dog eyes, give her a shoulder to cry on, and she'll be right as rain in no time."

Sam shot his brother an annoyed look.

"And," Dean continued. "You and she are best buds. We can't even be in the same room without arguing. How the hell would I be any help?"

Sam stared at the open road as it flashed past him before looking at his brother again. "You have to be the one to bring it up, Dean. You're the one who found her, and if she hasn't told me about the nightmares, she won't want to talk to me about them. She probably never even wanted me to know."

Dean sighed heavily. "Fine, fine."

Avery woke up several hours later her wavy blonde hair mussed and tangled with sleep. The second Dean noticed her waking up, he slipped in a Led Zeppelin cassette tape and started playing it quietly to fill the silence. He hadn't even realized that he'd kept the volume low to help Avery make the transition from sleep to consciousness less jarring.

And he was pleasantly surprised when Avery smiled and said, "I love this song."

"You know Led Zeppelin?" Dean asked. 'Going to California' wasn't a song that the casual rock fan knew. Avery didn't come off as the type that would listen to all of Zeppelin IV. She looked like the type that would know the chorus of 'Stairway to Heaven' and maybe recognize a few guitar riffs here and there from some other classic rock bands, but mostly listen to whiny soft rock and Coldplay.

"Of course." She rolled her eyes. "I mean, I never learned the words to this song but I love the tune, you know?" She told him before humming softly along to the song.

He didn't know, but he nodded anyway. Dean wasn't accustomed to listening to music frequently enough to learn the melody but not enough to learn the words. But seeing as he had listened to the same music over and over again for almost twenty years now might have contributed to that.

Dean grew more and more surprised every time a new song began to play and every time she recognized it and hummed or even sang quietly to herself. He had to strain to hear her over the music, but it was there.

"I don't get it." Dean finally said, and Avery looked up from her book in surprise. "How did you get into classic rock? Did your daddy listen to it or something?"

Avery's features darkened for a moment before she schooled them into neutral blankness. "My daddy wasn't around long enough to get me into anything."

Dean suddenly felt very stupid and intrusive. "Uh—sorry."

"Don't be." She said quickly flashing him a tight smile. "S'not your fault my dad's an ass."

"Well, speaking of your parents, are you any closer to reversing whatever your mom did to block your memories?" Sam asked but Avery shook her head hesitantly before stopping.

"Some…stuff is getting back but…" She looked like she was struggling to understand what exactly she was trying to say. " To tell you the truth, I'm not really sure how—it's like if I remember something, I'm not aware that I remember it, you know? It's like it was always there."

"Huh," Sam said. "That's—"

"Freaky." Dean cut in, and Sam smacked him. "Dude!" Dean hissed angrily, but Avery didn't seem to be paying attention any longer. She was deep in thought. Avery was tense and worried about meeting him—her companion— in person. She had always trusted him before when he was in her head, but something about meeting him in person put her on edge. She still had so many questions about her alternate self and the decision that version had made to send in her good family friend into a fantasy world. One that she may very well die in. Not to mention all the questions she had about who he was and how to fix her memory problems.

Avery felt vulnerable and exposed with her lack of knowledge. She felt like she had been blinded, hobbled with ignorance and she hated it.

"How long until we get to Enid?" Avery asked.

"Seven hours." Dean estimated. "Six if we shag ass, but we'll probably stop for the night before we get there."

Avery nodded and turned back to her book which she had found in the Men of Letters library. It was on the legends of the battle in heaven during the fall of Lucifer and the book of Genesis. She had been researching all she could on the Mark of Cain and anything she could find about the angels the guarded Eden. Her knowledge of the future went only so far so she wanted to make the most of it while she could. Maybe get ahead of the game before it caught up with her and inevitably steamrolled her.

She had this pit in her stomach that the Mark of Cain would be much more than Dean bargained for. That it would have consequences that neither she nor the brothers would have ever imagined and she prayed that she could find another solution for the Abbadon problem before Dean ever had a chance to take the mark.

Dean glanced up at the rearview mirror for what he promised himself would be the last time to check on Avery.

They stopped around one in the morning at some ratty motel just a couple of miles from town. Dean had insisted on driving all the way without stopping so they were all cranky and tired of being cooped up all day with each other.

Avery got out of the Impala and stretched out the kinks in her back from being hunched over a book for seven hours. Sam was sorting through the trunk of the Impala while Dean was getting them a room.

"How do you guys do this every day?" She asked Sam who looked at her slightly confused. He didn't quite understand what she meant.

"Drive," Avery clarified "For several hours. Non-stop."

Sam shrugged. "I don't know, you get used to it, I guess."

Dean pushed open the door to the lobby sullenly before making his way towards them. "All right, good news, we got the last room. Bad news, only two twins and no sofa."

"Well shit." Sam sighed. Avery glanced at the brothers guiltily. This wouldn't have been a problem if she wasn't on the hunt with them.

"I'll take the floor," Dean said.

"No," Sam cut in. "Don't worry about it. I'll take the floor."

"C'mon Sammy—" Dean rolled his eyes.

"Enough," Avery said. "I'll take the floor. I'm the third wheel, it only makes sense that I take the floor."

"You can't sleep on the floor," Dean told her like she was an idiot for even suggesting otherwise. "You're a girl. How much of a dick would I be if I let you sleep on the floor?"

"You're not a third wheel." Sam insisted.

"Well fine!" Avery said throwing her hands up in exasperation. "Two of us will just have to share, then. Because I won't let either of you sleep on the freaking floor and neither of you will let me sleep on the floor." She crossed her arms, and the brothers looked at each other before shrugging and then putting their fists in their palms.

"Rock paper scissors," Avery asked bemusedly. "Really?" Dean cocked an eyebrow at her, and she rolled her eyes before holding out her own fist. "You two are children."

"All right, losers share a bed," Dean said shooting a glance at the pair. The three nodded and then—

"1, 2, 3, shoot!"

Sam and Avery both drew rock and Dean drew scissors. Avery had to muffle a snort, and Dean shot her a murderous glare.

"All right, you and me Aves," Sam said.

"1, 2, 3, shoot!"

Avery's heart plummeted as Sam snipped her 'paper' with his fingers. Her smug smile had fallen by the time she looked at Dean who had a defeated slash grumpy look on his face.

Sam, on the other hand, couldn't have looked more pleased. "Ha! I win!"

"Yeah yeah yeah. You don't have to rub it in." Avery crossed her arms sullenly if not a little petulantly. She was not looking forward to having to share a bed with Dean. There were too many potential fights that could come out of this that she really did not want to have to deal with.

"Okay, I'm going to get food. You two want anything?" Sam asked.

"I'll go with you," Avery said quickly, but Sam shook his head. "Nah it's okay. I got this, you two unpack. I'll be back soon."

"Get me pie!" Dean said over his shoulder as he started pulling out his weapons from the duffel bag.

"Avery?" Sam asked pointedly ignoring her please-let-me-go-with-you eyes.

"I'm good." She managed weakly before Sam left and she was alone in the room with Dean. Avery licked her suddenly dry lips while Dean completely ignored the fact that they were alone together. Avery and Dean were never alone together. Not if either of them could help it. So why was Dean so nonchalant now? What had changed?

"So…" Dean started not turning away from his task. "Anymore…you know…"

Avery stood awkwardly by Sam's bed, her arms stiff at her sides. "What?"

Dean looked over his shoulder at her and cleared his throat before turning away again. "You know…nightmares."

It suddenly all made sense to Avery. Why Sam had left her alone with Dean so abruptly and why Dean was cool with it. It was an ambush.

"No." Avery lied.

Dean turned around finally facing her completely. He could feel that she was lying, he saw it on her face.

"Have I told you that you're a terrible liar?" He asked leaning back against the wall and crossing his arms.

Avery had to bite back a guilty grimace. "You might have mentioned it."

Dean looked at her for a moment. His eyes touching every inch of her face trying to read what she was thinking of before starting again. "You know, it's okay if you tell me. I get that you don't want to but— uh…" Dean trailed off again looking uncomfortable. "If you need to talk…I'm here."

Avery stood there her eyes wide with astonishment. What had brought this on? This very decidedly un-Dean thing. He was reaching out to her emotionally? Why? Dean hated talking about his feelings or other peoples feelings. In fact, he tried to avoid them at any cost so why was he reaching out now? And to what might as well be a complete stranger.

"Stop looking at me like that." He growled looking very embarrassed with himself. Dean knew this was a bad idea.

"Sorry," Avery flushed looking equally as embarrassed "But—uh—thank's for the concern. I'll…keep it in mind."

Dean nodded slowly. "Okay."

Avery bit her lip. "Okay."

They stood there silently, awkwardly for a moment before Avery stood up, needing to get out from under Dean's burning gaze. "I'm gonna go take a shower." She said much too loudly.

"Yeah okay…you go…do that." Dean said as Avery rushed into the bathroom her duffel over her shoulder.

The minute the door closed Avery and Dean both pinched the bridge of their noses before scolding themselves quietly.

"Stupid."

* * *

 

Sam returned ten minutes later with Chinese food from a twenty-four-hour place down the block. Dean complained about the lack of pie and Sam bit back that no place was going to be open at two in the morning with pie. They ate quietly. Well, Dean and Avery ate quietly while Sam tried to get a conversation going.

But every attempt at small talk was shot down with quick, short answers. Sam regretted for a moment leaving Avery and Dean together. He thought that maybe they would bond over Avery's nightmares, but it seemed like their relationship had gotten more… different. No longer antagonistic, but strained. If anything they were more uncomfortable now than before when they were at each others throat.

"So what kind of music do you listen to," Dean said abruptly.

Both Avery and Sam were caught off guard by the seemingly out of left field question.

"What?" Avery asked.

Dean chewed on his lip before taking another drink of his beer. "Well, back in the car you said that you didn't really listen to classic rock so…I'm curious. What music do you listen to?"

Avery looked at Dean completely and utterly baffled but answered anyway. "Um well, I like Coldplay—"

Dean snorted loudly, and Avery shot him an annoyed look. "What you got something against Coldplay?"

Dean fought valiantly to keep the smile off his face but literally couldn't help himself. "It's not that it's just…you give off a Coldplay vibe."

"And what's that supposed to mean?" Avery asked her anger spiking.

"Nothing," Dean insisted shit-eating-grin still firmly in place. "What else do you listen to?"

Avery glanced at him warily like she was expecting him to keep picking on her no matter what she said.

Dean rolled his eyes at her hesitation, easily reading why she didn't want to answer. "I won't laugh again, I promise."

Avery looked at him and sighed, relenting to the part of Dean that could be really charming when he wanted to be. "I don't know, all sorts of music. I don't really have a preference. I listen to whatever I happen to be into at the time."

"What are you into now, then?"

She puffed out her cheeks, "Uh, jazz I guess. Old stuff from the 20s, you know, prohibition era."

Dean nodded thoughtfully. "Not really my taste but—"

Avery scoffed, and Dean frowned at her. "What?"

"How can you know if it's 'your taste' if you haven't even listened to it before?" Avery asked pointedly.

Sam observed them. They were having an amicable good-natured debate on music. For the very first time since Avery had arrived, they were having a perfectly pleasant conversation, and it was blowing his mind. He didn't know what was going on, but he was going to make sure that whatever was happening kept happening.

* * *

 

  
Avery's eyes opened and she realized that the blank, featureless room she was in was strange. This wasn't right. Was all she could think. Suddenly, from out of the far left corner, her mother walked forward looking peaceful and whole. No ugly gash in her chest or blood running down her temple. No tears through her palms or feet from where she was nailed to the ceiling. She looked alive and happy.

"Mom?" Avery asked brokenly, scared to hope that this was her mother. Alive and well.

"Oh, sweetheart." She said disappointment washing over her face. "You failed me."

"W—what? Mom." Avery whispered horrified. Her mother walked forward and placed her palm against Avery's cheek. Avery melted into her mother's warm hand not realizing until that moment how touch starved she was. "You did this to me. You led them right to me and now…now I'm dead."

"No Mom, please," Avery begged tears rolling down her face as her mother pulled away and turned her back to her. "I didn't know—"

"Don't you see?" Her mother asked softly still facing away. "It's your fault I'm dead."

Behind her, Lucy walked up flickering from an adult to a young girl of about eleven years old.

"You sent me there against my will." Lucy accused her voice jumping from that of a twenty-two-year-old to a girlish soprano. "Now I'm dying. And it's all your fault."

Avery's father joined the group, his blonde hair mussed like it had always been and his cobalt eyes shining. "You drove me away." He shook his head. "It's all your fault."

Dean looked up from Sam's laptop startled when he heard the softest saddest "No." come from the tiny blanket covered lump that was Avery. Sam and Avery had both fallen asleep an hour ago, but Dean couldn't seem to find sleep no matter how hard he tried so he ended up stealing Sam's laptop and doing more research on shamanistic animal magic.

There was another quiet cry of despair, and Dean stood up carefully. No wonder Dean hadn't heard Avery have a nightmare in so long. She didn't scream and thrash like she did the time he caught her. She cried quietly and desperately, begging whoever was tormenting her in her dream to stop.

Dean burned with curiosity. He wanted to know what she was dreaming about so bad it almost hurt. Avery had tears running down her cheeks, her eyes closed tightly. She looked absolutely heartbroken, and Dean felt a twinge of pity before shaking her arm gently.

Her eyes flew open, and she shot up looking confused and disoriented.

"You were having a nightmare," Dean said gruffly. Avery tore her eyes from him shame washing over her face. She wiped away her tears hastily not wanting him to see her so vulnerable.

"Sorry."

Dean frowned at her. "Why are you apologizing?"

Avery looked up at him warily before shaking her head. Dean watched as she started putting up her defenses. He knew that if he was going to get any answers, he had to ask now.

"What was your nightmare about?" Dean pressed. Avery bit her lip and looked like she was having a very hard time forming words before she sighed quietly and answered.

"It's different but the same each time. The people I love, the people I'm close to…" Avery looked pained. "They tell me it's my fault."

Dean sat down next to her carefully, not wanting to scare her off when he was finally making some progress with her. "What's your fault?"

Avery's jaw worked under her smooth, unblemished skin. "That my mom is…gone, that my Dad walked out on us, that my friend is… abandoned, and—" Avery glanced at Dean before licking her lips nervously. "Other stuff."

"None of that is your fault." Dean insisted immediately despite not knowing anything about what she was really talking about.

"Isn't it Dean?" She asked softly. "A lot of things wouldn't have happened, a lot of bad things wouldn't have happened if not for me."

Dean stared at her, not quite knowing what to say. He understood the feeling, and it didn't seem fair to try to tell her otherwise when the same could be said for him. A lot of terrible things wouldn't have happened if not for him. "It's just a dream, Avery." He finally said. Avery nodded slowly.

"Yeah, I know."

Avery didn't want to move. She felt like the entire weight of the world was resting on her chest. She curled up into a ball and hugged the sheets towards her, clutching onto anything mildly comforting. Dean watched her, quietly hesitating for a moment before getting up, sitting on his side of the bed, kicking his shoes off and laying down.

The two automatically moved as far away from each other as they could not wanting to disturb each other before falling asleep.

* * *

 

Dean woke up slowly enjoying the comfortable warmth of the girl in his arms and couldn't help but grin a little in triumph. He'd been here many times before. He didn't remember what the girl's name was, then again he rarely did. But something bothered him in his sleep addled state. He not only couldn't remember her name, he didn't even remember coming home with a girl at all, which begged the question: Who the hell was in his arms? Dean stiffened and quickly glanced down at the blonde cascades of wavy hair draped across his chest belonging to the only other female in his life at the moment.

Avery.

He could feel the tiny puffs of her warm breath against him. Her head rested on his chest, and her arm was draped across his abdomen clutching tightly to his t-shirt.

How had this happened? He remembered that last night they had both slept on the farthest edges of the bed so there would be no dream of contact occurring and yet several sleep hours later they were both wrapped in each other's arms. Then again, the bed they were sleeping on was tiny.

Dean slowly, carefully began to try and pull away from her without waking her up. This was one awkward conversation he did not want to have. He gently pried her fingers from his t-shirt and pulled his entire body away slowly, cringing every time she shifted on top off him.

Sam woke up with a yawn and rolled over, his hair flopped out over his pillow. He smacked his lips sleepily and looked confused for a moment before giving an amused chuckle at the sight of his brother trying to extricate himself from Avery's sleep induced cuddle. Dean glared at him and mouthed "Not a word" Before pulling away from her completely. Thankfully she didn't wake up, but she did steal Dean's pillow and cuddled with it instead.

Dean scrubbed his face. This was very not good. He hated how good it felt to be held like that. Like he could be trusted. Like someone wanted him to protect them. Like someone wanted him. It felt safe and warm, and it was something he didn't even know he was craving. Dean felt like he hadn't had any real affection for so long and to have suddenly had it? It felt strange like his stomach was twisted all in knots because he knew it was nothing, an accident, a fluke.

It's not that Dean wanted affection from her, from Avery. Far from it. But he was so starved for that warmth, that safety that he honestly didn't care where it came from.

Sam swung his gigantic legs over the side of the bed and watched his brother pacing the room nervously. Sam's hair stuck up at odd angles and Dean, looking to pick a fight because of how off he was feeling, snapped at his brother.

"You need to get a friggin haircut, Rapunzel. You look ridiculous."

Sam laughed in disbelief. Dean must have really been freaked out by whatever had gone down between him and Avery if he was itching to fight over something as stupid as Sam's hair.

"Why has this got your panties in such a twist, Dean?" Sam asked his brother.

"Because your hair is way too long and it bothers me." Dean snapped.

Sam rolled his eyes. "Not my hair, you idiot, Avery." At the sound of her name, Avery stirred a little, and Dean froze in panic before Avery rolled over and continued sleeping.

Dean glanced back at his brother who had cocked a surprised brow at Dean's reaction.

"Dude, it was an accident. Why is this such a big deal for you?" Sam asked. "You bring girls back to the motel all the time."

"Yeah," Dean snapped. "But I don't stay to cuddle after and I sure as hell don't want to sleep with Avery."

Dean ran his fingers through his hair agitatedly. "As if it wasn't awkward enough. This had to happen."

"What had to happen?" A voice asked groggily. Avery pushed herself up on her elbows and frowned at the brothers through sleepy eyes.

"Nothing." Dean snapped. Avery drew back slightly as if she'd been slapped, at Dean's harsh tone before quickly casting her gaze down.

"Fine. Sorry." She mumbled, and Dean grimaced internally. But of course, instead of swallowing his pride and apologizing he scratched the back of his head and disappeared into the tiny bathroom to take a shower.

Avery watched him leave out of the corner of her eye feeling jarred by Dean's hostility. She didn't know what she could have done that had made him so angry. And she had thought that maybe they were getting along better.

Sam sighed tiredly, and Avery shot him a confused look.

"Nothing." Sam shook his head, but it sounded very much like something despite that. Avery grew angry for a moment, she hated being left out, and that was exactly what was happening. For some reason or another, the brothers were hiding something from her, and it bothered her tremendously. Especially when it seemed to concern her directly.

The rest of the morning passed in stony silence as the trio got ready for the day. When they finally were all ready, and they couldn't avoid speaking to each other any longer they sat down and got to business.

"Okay," Avery said brittlely, pinching her eyes together, her hands resting on her temples. "If I remember correctly, you guys get a potion recipe from Kevin that allows you to talk to animals so that you can interrogate a dog who witnessed the first murder."

Dean cocked a skeptical brow, but Avery continued. "The guy that killed the victim is a chef at a local restaurant, I can't remember his name, but he was using shaman magic to heal his cancer. He got addicted to the power and kept stealing animal parts, but I guess the victim got in the way? Or maybe he caught the chef guy in the act, so he killed him."

"So he's just a human with animal abilities?" Sam asked.

"Yeah." Avery nodded opening her eyes.

"So we could just shoot him. We don't need any special weapons." Dean nodded looking pleased that the hunt would be an easy one. Sam was still healing, and he didn't want any stress to make him worse.

"Well…" Avery trailed off uncertainly. Dean crossed his arms and frowned.

"What?"

"I'm not so sure." She sat down hesitantly as Dean started to crowd her angrily. "Last time, you took the potion, and you set the dogs from the pound on the chef."

"Okay…why does that mean we can't just shoot him?" Dean asked.

"When you killed him he had properties of a wolf, but say you try to kill him while he has the regenerative properties of some other animal and heals before you can kill him and he kills you?" Avery asked.

Sam nodded. "The only way we would know for sure that he isn't on anything that could protect him would be to trigger the events that make him use the wolf magic."

Avery shot Dean a nervous look unconsciously, and his eyes narrowed. She realized her mistake and quickly turned away. If Sam and Dean triggered the same events, then Sam would get attacked and then healed by Gadreel thus ensuring that he would be weakened and stuck inside Sam longer.

"So what, we drink the potion, get the dog, and then have us a Michael Vick showdown?" Dean asked.

Avery nodded quietly still avoiding Dean's eyes. "All right," Sam nodded. I'll call Kevin."

After Sam got the ingredients and instructions for the spell, Sam and Dean started getting ready to leave to pick up the Colonel from the pound and find the ingredients.

"I think it's best if I stay behind," Avery said suddenly, seeing her opportunity to be alone and contact the voice.

"What?" Dean said sharply. "Why? You've been bitching about going on a hunt for a month."

"Yeah well," Avery started, scrambling for an excuse. "I don't have any FBI credentials or clothes. I couldn't pass off as one of them not to mention it's weird for more than two agents on a case. It would just get in the way."

Sam and Dean didn't look convinced in the slightest, so Avery drew the ace up her sleeve. She forced a blush to her cheeks and focused on her feet like they were lost treasures from Atlantis.

"I'm having some…lady issues."

Sam and Dean both paled. "No— yeah— sure," Sam said quickly.

"You take all the time you need." Dean tacked on weakly not getting out of the room fast enough. Sam realized he'd been abandoned and quickly followed after his retreating brother as if she had just told them that she had the bubonic plague.

Avery smiled triumphantly as the door closed behind him. Sometimes being a girl rocked.


	9. Life Is No Fairytale

I paced around the room nervously, jumping at every sound I heard come from outside the motel. I had called the voice about half an hour ago, and he had yet to appear. What was taking him so long?

Just as I was about to give up on him showing up at all, there was a short tap on the door. I froze for a moment before moving slowly towards it. I glanced through the eye hole and cocked my head. Huh, this was him.

He had carefully combed brown hair, not a single one out of place, and parted to one side. His chin and jaw were darkened with a couple of days growth, and his eyes were bright blue, almost unnaturally so, and sharp. Everything about his face screamed arrogance and mischief from the slight crookedness of his smirk and the wrinkles around his eyes.

He was wearing a light blue collared shirt with the top two buttons unbuttoned with the sleeves rolled up above his elbows, a dark grey waistcoat, and matching grey slacks. He had a brown leather suitcase at his feet.

"Are you going to let me in, or were you waiting for something?" He drawled.

"How do I know you're him?" I asked hesitantly. 

"Who else would it be?" The man smiled at me, his face slightly distorted by the fisheye effect of the peephole. I felt a small wave of relief wash over me as I hurriedly unlocked the door and pulled it open.

"You're late," I said flatly.

He waltzed in, and I watched as he hungrily took in his surroundings before turning on his heel to look at me. He was tall, about Dean's height.

"Why are you living in this hovel?" He sneered, and I frowned at him.

"I don't have much choice…" I trailed off as he gave a short laugh. I didn't know what was funny. "Do you have a name?" I asked him.

"Thomas," He smirked. "Thomas Slater. It's good to finally see you." Tom said quietly, the arrogance falling away as he stepped close enough to me that I had to crane my neck to keep eye contact.

I felt the crushing loneliness I usually carried fade a bit as I nodded. "Yeah,"

"Well, shall we get to it then?" He asked me his eyes tracing my features. 

"Right now? I have so many questions!" 

Thomas tilted his head to one side, "What do you want to know?"

"How- I mean you must- and if you didn't, then why-?"

He smiled again and grabbed my arms right above the elbows, "Hey, take a breath. What do you  _need_  to know?"

"How are we... connected. How did you know to look for me?"

His smile faded slightly and an emotion I couldn't quite read flickered across his face, "We were friends once upon a time and...well,"

I frowned at him.

"Well," he continued, "when you made your way back to somewhere I could reach you again I wanted to-"

"Find me." I finished for him. 

He nodded.

"So, you're like me."

"Yes."

"And we were friends."

"Are friends, " He corrected and then smirked, "I hope."

A sudden and almost desperate urge to reach out and hold him swept over me but I fought it and clenched my fists at my sides instead.

"Are friends," I repeated, and his smirk graduated into a dazzling smile. 

"Any more questions?" He probed lightly.

"Yeah, but they can wait, Lucy can't. I need to know that she's okay. And if she isn't…" I trailed off, "well, if she isn't then maybe I can do something to help."

Slater stepped away, and I let out a breath I hadn't known I was holding. There was something about him that was intimidating. I didn't know if it was the way he carried himself so confidently or maybe the fact that he knew some if not all of my deepest darkest fears and guilts, all of my shame and self-hatred. He knew it all even if I didn't, and although it frightened me, how intimately he knew me, it was also comforting.

He knew me. I didn't have to hide from him or pretend and that made me feel a freedom and peace I hadn't felt in a very long time.

"Until we reverse whatever you and your mother did, you won't be able to travel anywhere." Slater started to explain, but I stopped him.

"Wait, my mother and I?" I asked confused. "I did this to myself? I helped my mom do this to me?"

Slater's gaze fell to the floor. "You have to understand. There were—are a lot of creatures, beings, that want a piece of you. You were in constant danger at the time, and so were your parents."

Slater ran his fingers through his perfectly coiffed hair but still managed to keep every hair in place. "We are windows into alternate realities. There are enough things out there that are content to burn their worlds down and then move on to a new one to start over. And if they figured out how to use us to do that..."

I stared at him.

"That would be bad."

"Why can't you just open up a window for me then?"

Slater's lips thinned, "I wish it were that easy. But for someone to hitch a ride, specific conditions have to be met."

A moment passed and neither of us spoke.

"Why'd I do it?" I asked again. "How could this have been the right decision? Wouldn't knowing what was coming after me be better? What did I even do to provoke this kind of attention?"

Slater grimaced, "I wish I knew. You kind of up and disappeared on me."

Of course I did. The more I learned, the less I liked myself. I was a coward. I'd up and ran the second the going got tough, and I'd left my friends behind while simultaneously dragging my parents with me. When that wasn't enough, I'd conspired with my mother to destroy what was left of my abilities. And to what? Prevent me from going back? Prevent other people from finding me? Or was it just to hide?

"I'm sorry." 

Thomas looked sad for a moment but smiled again, "What matters now is that we found each other."

I smiled back at him, and he nodded.

"Okay, well. The best we can do right now is make contact with your friend. When you transported her," Slater stood up and opened the briefcase before pulling out a strange metal bowl, several corked vials, and an obsidian dagger. "You would have used some of your grace to kickstart it."

He flipped the dagger in his hand and held it out to me handle first. "I have a spell that will give you a momentary connection between you and her. And it requires some blood."

I took the knife hesitantly. It was much heavier than I anticipated but I wasn't afraid. I was almost excited about the pain I was about to experience. Somewhere deep down I knew that it would be something I deserved, the first of many punishments to atone for my sins.

Slater nodded, and I squeezed the blade in my fist before pulling away sharply.

"Ah!" I hissed and bit back the tears of shock and pain that rushed to my eyes. I blinked them away quickly and opened my palm letting the blood flow into the bowl.

Slater's eyes narrowed for a moment while he watched me, but the look dissipated quickly before I could understand what it meant.

"Okay, now a bit of this…" He crushed up some leaves and sprinkled them into the bowl, "And a touch of that…" He pulled the stopper off a vial and poured out half of its powdery contents on top. "Lovely."

Slater ushered me forward with one hand while he mixed the bowl with the other. "Cysylltu â ni."

"Connect us?" I asked befuddled. Slater smirked at me, "Come here." He placed his large palm against my forehead, and I gasped. Images came rushing across my eyes and I almost vomited at the alarmingly disorienting speed that they passed.

"Concentrate," Slater urged me. "Find a time we can slip in without anyone noticing something wrong."

I felt a tug somewhere near my navel, and I thought I was again that I was going to vomit when I realized that it was a moment tugging me, not my digestive system. I saw her, she was frail and weak and holding up a vial of dark tar-like liquid. She was drinking it and passing out. The scene played over again as I lingered on it and it changed her eyes glowing blue for a moment as the windows shattered.

"Now," I said loudly. "I think this is the place."

"Amo."  _Here_. Slater staggered backward before sitting down his palms open over the bowl, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration.

"Okay, okay." He muttered, I felt the hairs on the back of my neck prick up, and a wave of chills run down my spin before I turned around. A small, frail girl with dark limp hair and sharp green eyes frowned at me, her form flickering weakly.

"Lucy," I laughed softly, sadly. "Wow, it's…weird seeing you like this…so young."

"What is this? Who are you?" She demanded and squared her shoulders stubbornly.

"I— It's me." I took a hesitant step forward. "It's Avery.'

Lucy's eyes widened in disbelief before narrowing. "Jackson? No, that's impossible. You disappeared after your mother died in that fire. And Avery Jackson is fifteen years old. You're not fifteen years old."

The image wavered violently.

"Slater?" I asked sharply. "What's happening?"

He groaned a little as if in pain. "I'm losing the connection. Hurry up."

"Listen we don't have much time, but once I figure out how to get to you, I'm going to find a way to fix this," I promised.

"Fix this?" Her eyes widened, life that wasn't there before filling them. "Fix me. You can fix what's wrong with me." Her voice was demanding almost angry. Like there would be hell to pay if she caught me lying. "Are you really Avery?" Lucy asked. I smiled sadly, and she blurred again violently.

"I'll figure this out!" I shouted before everything flickered out for the last time. "I promise," I whispered to the empty air.

"Bloody hell." Slater leaned back into the rickety wooden chair heavily. I turned to shoot him a watery smile but frowned when I saw a thin trickle of blood roll out of his nose.

"Tom? Are you okay?" I asked closing the distance between us and pushing his chin up to tilt his head back a little.

His hand went over mine and pulled it away from his face. "I'm fine princess." Slater grimaced but some of his cockiness shined through his obvious discomfort.

"Your nose is bleeding." I pointed out stubbornly.

"And?" He laughed. "It also does that during the winter when the air is too cold and dry."

"Yeah but—" I protested, and he rolled his eyes. My hand fell with his as he pulled it all the way down.

"It's just a little strenuous to make contact with universes when I don't have a place in those times. That's why I needed your blood. But I promise," He smirked. "It wasn't anything I couldn't handle."

"Okay," I nodded still unsure. I didn't want any more pain, anyone's pain, to be my fault. I already had too much blood on my hands.

"When will we be able to get to her?" I asked him.

"As soon as-" Slater's eyes flickered to the door a moment before I heard the familiar rumble of the Impala from outside. "Winchesters," He cursed.

How long had we been here? I glanced at the clock, and my eyes widened in shock. 2 hours? That was impossible. Slater had only just arrived half an hour after the boys left and the whole exchange with Lucy couldn't have taken more than ten minutes.

He jumped out of his seat and dropped my hand which swung limply at my side. Panic coursed through me at the thought of what Dean might do if he found Slater. Tom started stashing his things hastily into the briefcase, and I realized that freezing was not the best way to avoid a confrontation. I grabbed the abandoned dagger, meaning to give it back to Slater when the door opened, and I almost jumped out of my skin in horror.

It was almost comical how silent and still everything was before Dean pulled a gun out and aimed it at Slater's head.

"Dean don't shoot!" I pleaded.

"Who are you?" Dean demanded, his voice reduced to a thick rumble. My muscles locked as Slater crossed his arms tauntingly.

"My business is my own, Winchester."

Dean sneered and cocked his gun. "You have three seconds before I—"

"He's like me, Dean!" I said in a strangled voice.

Sam's eyes widened his own gun falling from Slater's head. "There's more than one vessel?"

Dean looked at me then Slater then back again. "How long have you known about him?"

I floundered, weak noises of distress issued from my mouth as I tried to explain myself.

"Tell me why I shouldn't shoot him right here and now!" Dean demanded.

"Because he's not the enemy Dean! He's my friend, he's been helping me with all this." I pleaded.

Dean shook his head angrily. "You don't know anything about this guy! He could be anyone! Do anything! He's dangerous."

Slater shook his head in disbelief.

"See this is why I don't get tangled up with the Winchesters. The good guys always end up getting axed." He spat.

Dean's face fell and he looked like he'd just been slapped. I gaped at Slater in disbelief, I couldn't believe he'd just said that. Dean's face morphed into one of murderous rage before he launched himself at Tom and punched him square in the jaw.

"Dean!"

Slater didn't fight as the blows kept raining down. In fact, he looked almost bored underneath the blood and bruising.

Sam shoved his gun into his waistband and pulled his brother off of Slater.

"You son of a—let go of me, Sammy!" Dean growled, and I didn't quite blame him. Dean had a lot of blood on his hands both directly and indirectly. He blamed himself for every one of those deaths. He punished himself harshly every day for it and for someone to go and throw his failures in his face? Well, I was surprised Dean hadn't just shot him there and then.

Slater wiped the blood from his lip with his thumb and looked at it curiously before smirking. His face glowed blue for a moment, and the damage disappeared as if it had never happened. Slater stood up and straightened himself out. "So uncivilized. You all right darling?" He asked me, and I continued to gape at him

"Me?" I asked dumbfounded. Slater frowned at me and glanced at my hand which was still wrapped around the blade of the knife and bleeding because of how forcefully my fist had clenched around it. "Oh," The blade slipped out of my grip, and more blood rushed out of my palm. It was almost silly to me how many times I'd gotten hurt and hadn't registered it. That had never happened to me in the past, and I wondered what had changed.

Slater gave me a piercing look that made me feel slightly ashamed. Of what, I couldn't be sure. He took my hand in his, and the gash glowed blue before sealing, a thin scar left in its place.

"What the hell?" He murmured. Sam and Dean were no longer struggling, just watching the moment as if observing aliens in their natural state.

"What is it?" I probed watching several emotions flicker across Slater's face.

"You scarred." He said quietly.

"Yeah," I nodded confused. "Is that not supposed to happen?"

Slater looked at me with thinly veiled concern that made my stomach flop. "No, that's not supposed to happen." His hand tightened around mine for a second as if he was trying to reassure me. "I'm going to go."

"Like hell you are!" Dean snarled.

"I'd like to see you stop me." Slater sneered before picking up his briefcase and the knife. Dean ripped his arms away from Sam who had still been holding him back, and Slater winked at me before he disappeared, the faint sound of ruffling feathers the only thing left behind.

Dean glared at the spot Slater had been for a moment before his gaze fell on me. In two strides he closed the distance between us and had me pinned to the wall, his forearm pressed against my throat.

"Dean!" Sam yelled.

"You know, you make it really damn hard to trust you," Dean said heatedly.

"I'm sorry!" I told him, And I was. Sorry, that he had found out. Sorry that this whole thing had gotten so messy.

Dean scoffed. "No, you're not. And if you want to stay with us, then you kick your buddy to the curb. Otherwise, I want you gone. Do you understand?"

"Dean you're being unreasonable!" I growled. "Sam back me up!"

Sam looked at me quietly before glancing away. "We don't know this guy and, no offense, but your word isn't enough this time. Just because you're vouching for him doesn't mean that he's trustworthy."

I gaped at him, shocked that he wasn't on my side, Dean was clearly in the wrong here. 

"Since when are you two the arbiters of who is and isn't trustworthy? Last I checked you've put your trust in way more untrustworthy characters than Tom. Or have you forgotten Ruby?" I spat, and Sam flinched.

"And what about Gordon? Huh, Dean?"

"Don't try to turn this on us," Dean sneered, "We've been doing this for years, believe it or not, but we know better than you." His fist closed around my shirt collar. "Make your choice. Him or us."

I closed my eyes and mustered up all of the patience I had left. "Dean, I know him and I promise, he wouldn't do anything to endanger any of us—"

"Fine. Get out." Dean dropped me and started throwing my belongings into my bag.

"You can't be serious…" I watched in disbelief. "Guys…"

Sam looked torn. "Forget about him being a danger to us, he could be dangerous for you. Yeah, I trusted Ruby and that was a huge mistake. Maybe my biggest mistake." Sam's eyes were pleading. "Don't make the same mistake. Stick with us."

"She's made her choice Sam." Dean snapped before throwing my duffel bag at me. I barely caught it and fumbled with its weight before finally hugging it to myself like a safety blanket.

I didn't know when I'd started getting used to the idea of sticking with the Winchester for the foreseeable future or when the urge to run away from them had disappeared, but I suddenly realized that I wanted to stay. So much that it hurt. But I couldn't cut Slater off. I needed him, to save Lucy, and because he was my friend. He'd been helping me find my powers and use them. He was the key to regaining my memory. I needed him. Didn't they get that?

"You don't understand—"

"Out!" Dean growled and I flinched.

"Fine…fine," I said quietly. I knew when I wasn't wanted. Dean had been itching for a reason to get rid of me for a long time. He finally had his excuse. This was the only reason that he would be so adamant that I leave. Slater wasn't even close to a threat, and Dean must have known that too. He just wanted me gone. I slung my duffel over my shoulder and walked out the door numbly, not turning back once.


	10. Your Will Or Mine?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Avery's recklessness erodes her relationships.

* * *

Ch. 10

Your Will or Mine?

"Sometimes you have to give up on people, not because you don't care, but because they don't." -  _Unknown_

* * *

Cars rushed passed me as I walked down the road that led to the other side of town. I had already passed three different inns but they were all too expensive, and I only had limited funds now that I was on my own. I couldn't waste a single dime if I wanted them to last.

An hour passed, my feet ached, and I felt like I couldn't drag that stupid duffel a foot further. I plopped down onto the ground and fought the urge to cry. This was stupid. Dean was stupid. Everything was freaking stupid. What the hell was I supposed to do now? I had no place to go. No direction or purpose. Not even a job to support myself. There was only one person left I could think to go to.

"Slater…I-I need your help." I pulled my knees up to my chin and wrapped my arms around them feeling small and insignificant. There was a flutter behind me but I didn't flinch. I could  _feel_ that it was him.

"What are you doing in the middle of the road, princess?"

I sighed. "They kicked me out."

"Kicked you out?" Slater repeated taking a few steps forward so that he was now in my line of vision.

"Yeah, they didn't approve of you. Told me if I wanted to stay I was going to have to cut all ties with you." I explained and he grinned at me.

"And you told them where to shove it, did you?" He asked pleased.

"Kind of the opposite," I muttered. "The point is, I have no place to go, barely any money, and no contacts except for you so…"

"Don't you worry love. I'll take good care of you." Slater held out his hand for me to take and I did. He pulled me up in one swift motion before slinging my duffel over his shoulder.

"You don't have to carry that—" I protested as I dusted the dirt off my jeans.

"I know," He cut me off. "I want to. Any place you'd like to go?" Slater asked me.

I glanced around me for a moment and caught sight of a sign that advertised the local diner.

"Food. Let's go there." I said eagerly. I hadn't eaten yet that day and I had barely picked at my food the night before, so I was ravenous.

"Okay," Slater grinned at me. "Food it is, here." He held out his hand again and I frowned.

"What?" He laughed. "You didn't think we were going to walk, did you?"

I took his hand tentatively and gasped when the floor seemed to fall out from beneath my feet and then suddenly reappear. We were now in an alley next to the diner, which was in the main square of the town. I could see the vegan bakery from where we stood.

"You're gonna have to teach me that." I grinned, turned slightly to the left and caught sight of the restaurant where the shaman chef was. It was a block or two away but it was there. A plan of action started to fall into place in my head and I quickly weighed the pros and cons and decided how I would carry the whole thing out.

"Hey let's drop off the bag at an inn or something," I told him quickly. Slater's smile wavered.

"Why? We aren't going to stay here long."

I rolled my eyes. "I know, I just don't want to bring in a bag full of weapons and my personal belongings into a crowded, public area. It makes me uncomfortable."

He looked at me skeptically but shrugged. "Okay, give me a minute." He disappeared with a flutter and was back in less than ten minutes. "Okay, we're in a Holiday Inn a couple of blocks away."

"Perfect," I smiled as widely as I could and tried to look happy. "Let's eat."

An hour, two eggs, three pancakes, and a side of bacon later I was leaning back against the red leather booth full and jittery as I kept trying to run out the clock. While I had been waiting for Slater before Dean discovered us, I had been researching Chef Leo's restaurant. It was high end and was only open for dinner on the weekdays starting at six pm and open at noon on weekends. Restaurants of that caliber started doing prep-work about four hours if not more before service started so at around this time the scut workers who did all the chopping and sorting etc. were probably just beginning to file in and prepare for the busy night.

Chef Leo, being the head chef, wouldn't probably arrive until an hour before service started. If I could get into the restaurant at about five and shut down service, I could set a trap for Leo and kill him before the boys had a chance and then disappear into the sunset. And if I didn't manage to kill Leo and he— well I'd probably be able to weaken him by the time the boys came around which was better than nothing.

My three biggest problems? Stalling Slater, getting Slater out of the way, and disrupting the service, getting everyone out before I killed their head chef.

"Are you ready then?" Slater asked. I nodded sluggishly.

"Oh yeah, I'm stuffed. Thank you." I gave an exaggerated yawn and chuckled. "Ugh, I think I'm gonna fall into a food coma. You think we could stop at the inn and I could take a quick power nap?" I asked.

Slater looked slightly annoyed but masked it quite well. "Don't you want to put this town in the rearview?"

"We're not traveling by car," I pointed out. "And yes, I do…but after my power nap."

Slater gave me a bitch face that Sam would be proud of.

"Look this has been a long day for me," I said softly. "I just need to rest for a little, please?"

Slater's features softened and he nodded.

"Thank you," I said truthfully. He really did look out for me. I felt a little bad about what I was about to do.

He paid for the food and zapped us to the hotel room which was much nicer than the one I had been staying in with the Winchesters. It had two queen beds, a bathroom, and a little kitchenette complete with a Keurig coffee maker. My duffel was on the bed closest to the window.

"I'm going to go brush my teeth," I announced picking up my bag and taking it into the bathroom.

"All right then." Slater nodded. "Afterwards I want to have a chat with you about working more on your powers and your memory."

"Sure!" I closed the door and locked it before unzipping my bag and tearing through my belongings. I needed something anything I could use to—

I gently took out a pill bottle that I completely forgot I had.

Ambien.

These bad boys could knock someone out for hours. Depression was a tricky thing; one day you would sleep for hours and hours and then for a week you wouldn't be able to sleep unless you took a couple of these every night. They made you hungover as hell but they did the job. I hadn't needed to use one of these in almost two years. My psychiatrist had finally perfected my cocktail so that my depression-induced insomnia wasn't so debilitating but I had kept them just in case.

I rummaged through my bag again and found a little plastic baggie. I took out three pills and started crushing them against the sink using one of the complimentary glasses. Once the tablets were a fine white powder, I scooped as much as I could into the baggie and washed the rest away. I put the bag in my pocket and quickly cleaned my teeth before putting everything else away.

When I came out of the bathroom, Slater was lounging on the bed flipping through the channels.

"Finally," He sighed throwing the remote to the side. "I need to take a leak." He strode past me with a grin and I rolled my eyes at him playfully. The second the door closed behind my smile fell and I let out a sigh. My eyes landed on the Keurig and my heart jumped in my chest. Perfect. I couldn't believe my luck.

I all but ran to the tiny machine and popped in a capsule that read 'Colombian Peaks.' I didn't know much about coffee except that Colombian was supposed to be the best. I popped that one in and waited impatiently for it to finish. I heard the water run in the bathroom and I quickly dumped the Ambien into the mug just as the coffee started to pour in. I mixed the drug in as thoroughly as I could and popped in another capsule just as Slater walked out the door.

"What are you doing?" He asked drying his hands on his slacks.

"I made you coffee." I smiled as my heart beat nervously in my chest. "I'm making myself some too."

Slater frowned. "I thought you were going to take a nap."

"I thought about it and you're right," I said quickly. "I don't want to spend another minute here so I thought we could use a pick me up." I held my own freshly finished coffee and took a scalding sip. I tried not to let the pain show on my face, but Slater was looking at me like I was deranged.

"I'm good but thank you."

I let my face fall and I looked away. "Oh sorry, I—I just wanted to do something nice because…well, you've done so much to help me and—"

"Fine. I'll drink the bloody coffee." Slater took the cup from my hands and I beamed at him.

"You're going to explain to me why you're acting so nutty." He said sternly before taking a sip. I nodded jerkily and we finished our coffee in silence. As he was tilting the last of his dregs back, he paused and smacked his lips before peering into the mug carefully.

"What in the—?"

"What is it?" I asked him, panic leaking into my voice. I must not have mixed the Ambien in well enough. There must have been some clumps of it stuck to the bottom that settled while he was drinking the coffee.

"Did you—" Slater blinked before stumbling back a little, the mug slipped out of his hand and crashed to the floor before shattering. Lukewarm coffee and clumps of undissolved Ambien stained the floor. "—you?" his knees buckled, and he leaned heavily against the bed as his body swayed.

"What—did you s'mething…?"

I ran to his side and caught him as his eyes rolled to the back of his head and his body went limp. "Why—?"

"I have to take care of this shaman guy before we go," I told him as I tried to gently lower him to the ground. But he was at least fifty pounds heavier than me and had almost a foot on me.

"I knew you would try to stop me and this was the only way—"

"Ungh n-no…" He slurred pulling at my sleeve weakly.

"I'm sorry," I repeated as I pried his hand from me and stood up. I slid the gun in my waistband and watched for a moment as Slater tried to crawl to me before losing consciousness.

I glanced at the digital clock on the night desk between the two beds. It was almost three o'clock. I had less than two hours to get to the restaurant and figure out a way to shut it down.

I paced the room anxiously. Think, think, think. Why do kitchens get shut down? Unsanitary conditions, right? But how was I going to convince the cooks that it was unsanitary and then persuade them to leave?

The movie Ratatouille popped into my head. The kitchen was almost shut down and subsequently  _was_  shut down for an infestation of rats. But where the hell was I going to get rat—

_Oh. I'm an idiot._

The shaman had his weird backroom filled with animal parts and, yes, a cage full of white mice. Not rats, technically, but beggars can't be choosers. I ran back to my duffel and fished out the lock picking kit Sam had gifted me and taught me how to use. I would break in, release the mice, stumble in pretending to be a customer that walked in through the 'accidentally' open door, scream at the chaos and mice, and threaten to expose the cooks if they didn't shut it all down. I would also order them to call their head chef, Leo, in to have a private chat and boom.

I would kill him.

I nodded to myself quickly.  _Because nothing could go wrong with_ that  _plan._

I cast Slater one last look and headed out to go to the restaurant.

* * *

"Do you think I did the right thing?"

Sam looked up from his laptop shocked. Dean had been sitting on his bed stonily after finding out about the side effects of the potion and arguing quietly with the Colonel. Neither of them had talked about Avery since she'd left.

"I don't know, Dean," Sam answered truthfully, sitting back in his chair heavily. "On one hand, we don't know anything about the other vessel or how long they've been communicating. I'm guessing it must have been a while if she's willing to vouch for him and that means that she's been keeping that from us for just as long, which begs the question: can we even trust her?"

Dean nodded.

"But on the other hand, we took her in, trained her, protected her." Sam frowned. "She's on Abaddon's hit list and we kicked her to the curb. She was our responsibility."

Dean looked pained like he had been thinking the same thing.

They sat in silence for a moment.

"Do you think she can make it on her own?" Sam asked.

Dean looked at his brother, his mouth opening and closing as he tried to find the right words before he stood up and started pacing. "Well, she won't be on her own, will she? She has that Slater guy. He'll take care of her, right?"

"If she's even with him," Sam said.

"Why wouldn't she be with him?" Dean asked angrily. "She chose him over us, didn't she?"

"I don't know, Dean." Sam looked worried like he also regretted kicking Avery out. Neither of them could stand to know that there was a potential threat looming over them and just let it go unchecked. So they had removed the problem entirely. But that didn't make it weigh any less on their conscious that they might have left Avery alone and defenseless.

They both jumped out of their seats when out of thin air a man crashed into the small table between them and rolled onto the floor. Both brothers had their guns trained on the form as he struggled to push himself up onto his knees.

"She's gonna get herself killed." He slurred.

"Hey!" Dean barked in surprise. "You're that guy!"

Slater managed to stand up before sliding back into the table. Sam caught him with one arm and lowered him into Dean's chair.

"What's wrong with him?" Sam asked putting his gun away.

"Avry drugged me." Slater shook his head to try and knock himself back into coherency but his eyes were still glazed over.

"What?" Dean demanded. "Why?"

"You!" Slater pointed at Dean drunkly. "You make her feel worthless. She doesn't think she'ss anything better than cannon fodder."

"What are you talking about?" Dean growled and Sam shot him a confused look.

"Avry went after Leo on her own. Thinks she can take care of him or die trying." Slater's speech began to get clearer with each passing moment.

Dean's eyes widened in shock. "She what?"

"She knew I would never let her go so she slipped something into my coffee." Slater closed his eyes as he started turning a little green.

"How long ago was this?" Sam demanded.

"I don't know, an hour? Two?" Slater said.

"How are you even up right now?" Sam asked. Slater looked at him; his eyes were still unfocused.

"I'm a vessel. We metabolize things quicker. If she had known that she probably would have given me more." Slater pushed Sam's hands away. "We have to go now! She's gonna get herself killed!"

"Okay," Dean said determinedly. "You stay here. You're in no shape to fight."

Slater looked panicked for a moment. "No! I have to come. What if she's hurt? She can't heal herself properly."

"What do you mean she can't heal herself properly?" Dean asked sharply. "I've seen her do it."

Slater shook his head angrily. "No, there's something wrong with her. Even my abilities couldn't heal her all the way."

"She scarred," Sam said quietly before looking up at Dean. "She scarred, Dean, remember?"

Dean looked like the idea of having Slater anywhere near him during a fight left a bad taste in his mouth but Slater did have a point. And if Avery got hurt bad enough, Slater would be the only one who could help. He didn't want to have to ask Zeke for any more healing favors. Not when it made Sam weaker.

"Fine." Dean ground out. "Let's go."

* * *

I glanced at the clock on the wall in the kitchen for the fifteenth time as I waited for the chef to show up. My plan with his mice had worked perfectly. And a few pictures taken with the flip phone Dean had given me was enough to convince the staff that I wasn't joking about leaking the story to the first tabloid I could get in contact with.

The sous had said that Leo would be in shortly but that was fifteen minutes ago and I was getting antsy.

Just when I thought the chef was going to be a no show, the door creaked open and I jumped out of the chair I'd been sitting in.

"So you're the whistleblower." He crossed his arms and I discreetly put my hand on the gun in my waistband.

"You run a pretty tight ship here," I said sarcastically. "Rats and all."

"Funny," The chef smiled humorlessly. "But both you and I know that my kitchen doesn't have a rat infestation."

"Oh, do I?" I cocked an eyebrow.

"Yes, because I just so happen to have a security camera in the storeroom you broke into tonight. So I know that you released those mice into my kitchen. What I don't know is why you would set up such an elaborate ruse to get me here alone." The chef said walking towards me slowly.

My mouth went dry and I pulled out my gun as fast as I could, aiming at the chef's head before firing—

But the chef was gone. I spun around and found him grinning at me; large thin claws had replaced his fingers.

"What animals did you eat this time?" I asked breathlessly at his speed.  _This might be more then I can handle._

"Did you know that the Peregrine Falcon can move up to 200 miles an hour while hunting for prey? Or that a wolverine's claws are one of the sharpest on the planet?" Leo boasted before his pupils dilated to match that of a bird's and were rimmed with gold. I fired again and gasped when I felt my cheek sting as four of the Chef's claws ran across my face.

My hand flew up to my cheek instinctively and my stomach flopped in surprise when I felt that the cuts were relatively shallow.

Why hadn't he just kill me outright—?

_Oh._

"I know its bad manners to play with your food but I just can't help myself." The chef grinned before licking the blood off of his claws. His eyes widened in surprise and pleasure before rolling to the back of his head.

"What are you?" He gasped as his eyes snapped back open, they glowed blue faintly.

"W-what?" I stuttered.

"Your blood it's—" The chef rolled his neck and the blue glow faded from his eyes. "It's so  _sweet_. I can feel its power running through me."

 _Uh oh. This was a_ huge _mistake._

I fired several times again in quick succession but the chef blurred out of the way. I screamed as I felt claws like knives pierce through my shoulder, cutting through muscle and sinew before pinning me to the drywall like a piece of meat. The chef's other clawed hand pinned my gun arm to the wall and cutting through my skin before his head bent over my bleeding shoulder and he sucked, lapping up my blood like a dehydrated man in a desert would drink from an oasis.

The sensation of his tongue pushing through the torn flesh of my shoulder was as agonizing as it was revolting. I didn't know if I wanted to vomit because of the pain or because of how disgusting it felt.

The chef was becoming rabid in his haste to drink the blood coming from my wound, his hand loosened over my gun arm and I threw it off before trying to shoot him again. The bullet missed its mark and the chef buried his claws into my abdomen vengefully, his eyes glowing cerulean.

I choked at the sensation of fire erupting in my stomach and coughed as my lungs started to fill with blood. The chef grinned cruelly, but I took the opportunity to shoot him in the chest while his hand was busy slicing up my insides.

I might have laughed at his shock when red started to blossom from his chest if I hadn't been choking on my blood. I shot him again and again until the gun clicked, empty, and the chef went limp pulling me down with him.

I don't know if it was the way I fell or the way his hand was angled in my abdomen but his claws pushed deeper through me and there was a flare of pain before I lost sensation in my legs. I was still caught in the chef's claws and we were twisted together in a grotesque embrace.

Everything was silent again except for the choked, pained noises I was making. The kitchen tiles beneath me were cold and stained with blood. I wasn't sure if it was mine or the chef's. Probably both. I looked away from the chef's open and dead eyes that stared at me.

I reached deep within myself for my grace but like before it wouldn't come with me easily like the first couple of times. I had to pull it kicking and screaming like a toddler who didn't want to take a bath.

When I finally pushed it towards my abdomen, I screamed at the pain it caused. The new flesh and organ tissue that had been trying to grow back was sliced through again by the claws still lodged there. I stopped immediately and gasped until the pain wasn't as debilitating.

Blood continued to seep from my body and I felt fainter and fainter. I was so tired. I didn't think I would have the energy to try and use my grace again.

Maybe if I closed my eyes for a minute, I could build up my strength and try again. Yes, I'd just rest for a second…

The door burst open loudly and I jumped, the claws slicing through me more. The strangled cry I let out drew the newcomer's attention and I could hear their heavy footsteps run toward me.

"You idiot, what did you do!" Dean scolded me but I could hear the panic in his voice.

"Long t-time no see," I said weakly as Dean's hands hovered over me. He looked like he couldn't decide where to go first. He finally nodded and put one hand on my shoulder and the other on the chef's right hand.

The small amount of pressure from Dean's hand was enough to jostle the razor sharp claws and I cried out.

"On three. One, two—" Dean pulled and the claws came out with a sickening squelch. Blackness ran over my eyes and when I opened them, Sam was helping a drunk looking Slater through the door towards me. I was now lying on my back and one of Dean's hands was all but holding my insides inside my stomach. The other was pressed against my left shoulder to stop the bleeding.

"Welcome back," Dean growled at me.

"Back?" I croaked.

"You passed out— Yeah any day now Sammy, she's only bleeding out after all!" Dean snapped. Sam pulled Slater to my side and helped keep him propped up as Slater knelt.

"Okay, lay your healing hands on her or whatever," Dean ordered.

"What were you thinking?" Slater asked me sadly as he took in my physical state. He looked hurt.

"You know what I was thinking," I said weakly, quietly. Blackness was creeping back at the edges of my vision. New hands rested against my wounds and pain as I had never felt in my entire life coursed through me.

But instead of my brain shutting down and letting me pass out, my consciousness got sharp and clear. I felt my body start to knit itself together. There was a burning pain in my lower back and suddenly the numbness that had swept over my legs when the chef stabbed me disappeared and was replaced with more pain.

"STOP!" I managed to choke past the agony.

"What are you doing to her!" Dean yelled.

"Shut up and let me work." Slater hissed.

"Dean, look. She's healing," Sam insisted.

My hands clawed at the ground looking for purchase. I need to channel the agony somehow. I finally found Dean's wrist. I squeezed like my life depended on it.

"Son of a bitch!" Dean yelped in surprised pain.

Another few agonizing moments passed before the pain slacked off into a dull ache. Instead of feeling like I had been put through a meat grinder, I felt like I had gone ten rounds with an MMA fighter.

My hand went limp and I groaned. My eyes fluttered open. Sam, Dean, and Slater were all around me, their faces hovering over me blocking out the harsh lights of the kitchen lamps. It almost looked like they had halos. Dean and Slater's hands fell away from me and Slater promptly passed out. Sam caught him before he could crack his head into the ground and Dean was holding his hand to his chest gingerly.

"I think you broke my hand." He said tightly. I might have imagined it but I think he looked impressed.

I sat up gingerly and closed my eyes again as the room spun unsteadily. My stomach churned, I felt terrible.

"Is Slater okay?" I asked thickly and opened my eyes again.

"I think so—" Sam started.

"No thanks to you," Dean said angrily. "Were you trying to get yourself killed?"

"No, of course not," I responded tiredly.

"Yeah, of course not," Dean responded facetiously.

I looked at him. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Avery," Sam said hesitantly. "You must have known that you weren't going to be match for him. Hell, it was you who argued that we should use the potion to be prepared."

I couldn't look Sam in the eye as he continued. "Why would you go after him if not to…you know…"

"I'm not suicidal." I snapped at him.

"Aren't you?" Dean growled. "You knew this was a suicide mission."

"I killed him didn't I?" I closed my eyes again as another wave of nausea rolled through me.

"Are you okay?" Sam asked me his hand resting on my shoulder. My hand shot out and clutched Sam's sleeve tightly.

"I think I'm going to throw up." I opened my eyes and took a deep breath through my nose.

Sam helped me up and I all but sprinted toward the nearest trash can and vomited. I wiped the bile from my lip and sighed tiredly before turning around.

"We should probably get out of here. There's no way someone hasn't reported the gunshots yet."

* * *

 

"We're staying at a Holiday Inn across town," I told Dean quietly as we raced down the highway. His left hand was wrapped in a black wrist splint.

"What?" Sam asked.

"You can drop us off there." I continued as I looked over at Slater who was fast asleep in the seat next to me. I think that after the combination of the Ambien and the strain it took to heal me, he was spent.

"No, you're staying with us." Sam insisted. My eyes snapped back to the front.

"What? I thought my association with Slater was a deal breaker." I said brittlely.

"Dean and I talked about it and…we changed our minds," Sam said.

"You changed your minds?" I repeated blankly.

"You obviously can't take care of yourself—"

"Dean," Sam warned.

"Excuse me?" I asked dangerously.

"You heard me," Dean growled. "You're reckless. You could have gotten yourself killed."

"So?" I demanded. Where did Dean get off lecturing me? He had his fair share if running into battles without given it a second thought.

"So?" Dean repeated in angry disbelief.

"It's my life, and because it's  _my_  life, I have the unique privilege of getting to do with it what I please!" I yelled. "I'm sick and tired of you dictating what I can do and where I can go. First, you kick me out, and now you want me back in?"

I scoffed. "Sorry but I don't want to have to worry that you'll change your minds again and I'll be back on the street. And it's really rich that you think you can lecture me on running into something recklessly."

"You almost died today." Dean snapped.

"I know, you haven't stopped reminding me all night." I retorted angrily.

"As far as I'm concerned, you're under our protection. So that means you have to stay with us. End of discussion." Dean said. "And, regardless of what I may or may not have done in the past, I know better than you. So sit back and shut up."

I had never felt angrier in my entire life than in that moment. I just wanted to scream and break things. I wanted to punch Dean right in his stupid bossy face. Sam just pinched the bridge of his nose like he could feel a headache coming on.

"Slater wake up." I shook his shoulder roughly and he snorted awake, almost falling out of the seat in the process.

"Wha—? I'm up!" His hair stuck up oddly and his eyes were still heavy with sleep.

"Let's get out of here," I told him quickly. Sam's head snapped up and he turned back to look at us.

"Don't you dare," Dean growled, he glared at me through the rearview mirror.

"Yeah yes, of course." Slater nodded drunkenly before placing his hand on my shoulder and screwing his eyes shut.

"Avery!" Dean yelled…but nothing happened. Slater snored loudly and my jaw dropped in disbelief.

"Ha, looks like your buddy's too tired to get it up." Dean gave me a self-satisfied smirk.

"Dean." Sam scolded tiredly.

"I hate you." I hissed through gritted teeth.

"You love me." Dean bit back. "Now where did you say you were staying again? We need to pick your stuff up so we can get back to the bunker."

"Bite me."


	11. Green Eyed Monster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Avery struggles with her new life in the bunker.

* * *

 

Ch. 11

Green Eyed Monster

"Jealousy is a disease.  _Get well soon._ " - Unknown

* * *

Dean had seen Avery maybe once or twice the week after the shaman debacle. Once Slater had regained his mental and physical faculties he and Avery had a screaming match that rivaled the ones Dean had had with her in the past.

It was a lot of 'I trusted you's, and 'you betrayed me's, 'those Winchester apes', etc. from Slater and the usual self-righteous platitudes that Avery had been fond of repeating to try and justify her actions.

"You didn't just put yourself in danger, Avery." Slater had growled. "Imagine if that creature had discovered the power you hold. Imagine if it had figured out how to tap into the raw divine energy coursing through your veins!"

When Slater had said that, Avery paled. Slater's eyes widened and he hissed. "It fed on you didn't it?"

Avery looked at her shoes and Dean eyebrows furrowed.

"You avoided catastrophe through sheer dumb luck!" Slater roared. "You have a responsibility to the world to keep yourself out of the hands of every bad thing who wishes it harm and if you hadn't managed to kill the creature it could've run rampant, murdering thousands!"

"What are you talking about?" Dean had asked reeling. He knew that Avery was a super-powered vessel, but it was never clear how much of a danger she actually posed if the wrong person got their hands on her.

"Our power," Slater ground out. "Comes from the mouth of God himself. Pure creation is woven into our very beings."

Slater glared at Avery. "I can't believe you. After everything I've done for you. This is how you repay me."

"Tom, please—"

"No!" He yelled. "Don't 'Tom, please' me! I'm done with you. Understand?"

Avery looked shellshocked.

"Until you get over this selfish bullshit, I don't even want to see your face!" Slater said venomously.

Slater had turned to Dean and told him, "Watch her. Keep her safe, if not for her then for the world." Slater shot Avery one last glare. "Because I won't do it. Not anymore."

Slater had then disappeared with a rustle of feathers leaving Avery furious and on the brink of tears. Dean had decided to twist the knife deeper by letting her know that she'd driven away the only person left that could stand her.

"Fuck you," She had whispered with less venom then Dean had hoped and slinked away to one of her hiding places within the bunker to lick her wounds. Luckily, Sam hadn't been there to hear Dean say that because he would have ripped Dean a new one.

But Dean was angry. Angry that Avery had shown up in his life and screwed with his family dynamic. Angry that she was a danger to them but at the same time vulnerable and in need of protection because apparently, she was a nuke and the outside world was North Korea. Angry that he couldn't look at her without remembering her broken and bloody, that it was his fault she had gotten that way. Angry that Avery could, at any second, let slip that Sam had an angel riding shotgun and there was nothing he could do to stop it. Angry that he had to babysit her now that she was a flight risk.

Dean was angry and when Dean was angry he got mean.

What Dean needed was a distraction, a hunt. And Cas had found him one.

"Four missing in Rexford Idaho," Cas held up a manila folder. Dean put his glass of whiskey down and took it before flipping through the copies of newspaper articles inside.

Cas crossed his arms. "They've been presumed dead but no bodies have been released to their loved ones. There were also reports of a strange substance at the scene of the crimes."

"There is a God," Dean smirked under his breath. This was exactly what he needed.

"Of course there is." Cas frowned.

Dean rolled his eyes, "No I just meant— never mind. You did good work Cas."

"Good work on what?" Sam asked as he walked through the entrance of the bunker. He was decked out in his workout clothes and his hairline was wet with perspiration. Avery was trailing behind him, just as flushed and sweaty as his brother. Sam had convinced him to let Avery leave the bunker for workouts with him.

"I think I can handle her, Dean." Sam had rolled his eyes at him when Dean had suggested that Avery would use it as a window for escape.

"Cas found a case," Dean told Sam grudgingly and noticed when Avery perked up slightly.

"A case?" Sam frowned. "Shouldn't we be working on Metatron's footnotes with Kevin?"

Dean closed his eyes and huffed. He had been  _so_ close at getting out of research.

"Wait, footnotes?" Avery asked timidly.

"Yeah," Sam nodded. "Metatron left a bunch of notes on the tablets and we've been trying to find the language they're written in. No luck so far."

She crossed her arms; annoyance pinched her lips. "Why didn't you guys tell me?"

"Don't blame us. You've been too busy sulking to notice anything going on." Dean pointed out, scoffing.

Avery's flush deepened with anger. "Well, if you had let me know, I could've saved you the trouble of all that research. There is no reversing the spell, not in the tablets."

"You've got to be kidding," Dean said frustrated. The task of getting all the angels off of earth was doubly daunting now that there wasn't a way to send them all back in one fell swoop.

"Damn." Sam sighed looking just as frustrated. "I'll tell Kevin." He jogged down the steps lightly and disappeared down one of the many hallways to Kevin's room where the prophet was sleeping off his last foray into the tablet translations.

"This is all my fault," Castiel said miserably. Dean had noticed over the past months that the former angel wasn't dealing with human feelings very well. They were overwhelming him even if Cas would never openly admit it.

"We're going to find a way to fix this, Cas, I promise," Dean said strongly but Cas didn't look any more encouraged than before. "And, we have a case," Dean reminded him.

"Right," Cas nodded. Dean frowned when he saw Avery's gears turning furiously.

"Don't even think about it." He snapped and Avery looked up.

"What?"

Dean pointed a finger at her. "The only way you're going on this hunt is in your dreams, sweetheart."

"You can't keep me here." She fumed.

"Watch me," Dean smirked. "You're on house arrest until I say so."

Dean's empty glass shattered and Avery jumped. Dean watched her carefully as fear flickered over her features. Ever since Slater had left her in the dust, Avery's powers had kept manifesting unexpectedly and seemingly without her control, especially when she was emotional.

Avery caught Dean watching her and she huffed before stomping off.

"Why do you antagonize her, Dean?" Cas asked disapprovingly.

Dean shrugged. "It's just too much fun."

* * *

"Where's Avery?" Sam asked several hours later. Dean looked up from the gun he was cleaning and shrugged.

"I don't know, probably in one of her usual spots."

Sam frowned. "You know for someone who's strictly enforcing the lockdown. You'd think you'd care more to know that she's still even here."

Dean rolled his eyes. "I've been watching the door all day and I locked down the garage the second we got back from Enid. Trust me. She's still in this bunker."

"What about Slater?" Sam crossed his arms.

"I already painted extra wards." Dean snapped the gun back together. "Besides, I told you he's not coming for her anytime soon."

Sam watched his brother until Dean looked up and gave him an annoyed look. "What?"

Sam sighed. "I'm going to go find her."

Dean scoffed. "Suit your self." Dean frowned as he poured the last of the whiskey into his glass.

Sam stalked off in search of Avery, pissed that Dean was being such a jerk to her. Every single time Sam thought the two were starting to get along, something would happen and they would both be at each other's throats.

He didn't get why Dean was being this way. Yes, Avery had no business going after the shaman, but Dean's reaction didn't make sense.

If Sam was right and Avery was trying to self destruct, then making her feel worse about herself wasn't going to help. Sam knew that Dean saw it too. They had both been there before, so why was Dean pushing her?

Sam grew more frustrated and worried as time passed and he couldn't find Avery. Where could she have gone?

_Okay Sam, think._

Avery and Dean were more alike then they'd care to admit and when Dean was feeling down on himself he drank. So maybe…

Sam took off down the hall and slowed down when he could hear someone moving around in the 'cellar.' It wasn't really a cellar but it was so meticulously stocked with barrels of alcohol that Sam didn't feel right calling it anything else.

He pushed the door open gently and frowned when he saw Avery splayed out on the floor, a bottle of rum by her hand.

Her head came up slightly to see who had come in and she laughed drunkly.

"Sammy! What are you doing here?" Avery's head went back down and she giggled. "Have you ever noticed that when you're drunk and you lie down, you feel like—one with the universe?"

"Wow," Sam said bluntly.

"It just," She sighed happily. "It just feels right." Avery brought the bottle to her lips and the rum sloshed down her front. "Whoops."

"Okay," Sam bent down and pulled the bottle away from her. "That's enough for you."

"Hey!" She complained. "Do you know how hard it was to get that thing open? The screwy thing wouldn't unscrew and it kept slipping out of my hand…"

Avery trailed off before starting again. "And holy crap was it hard to get drunk. I had to drink sooo much to get here."

Sam remembered what Slater had told them. "You're a vessel. You metabolize things faster."

Avery managed to sit up and she sighed. "You are so smart, Sammy."

"It's Sam." He corrected before trying to pull her up. She giggled and swung backwards on her heels. Sam wasn't prepared for the sudden shift in weight and he staggered down with her.

"Sit with me. Have a drink!" Avery pleaded playfully.

"I'm good," Sam promised but sat down next to her anyway. He figured that she would keep being difficult until she burned through some more of the alcohol in her blood or until she passed out.

"You know, before I got here, I idolized Dean," Avery said wistfully.

Sam looked at her, surprised at the new topic of conversation. "What do you mean?"

Avery sighed. "Dean was a hero, you know? He was strong and brave, kind, funny. He was always there for you when you needed him. I don't know, when I met him—I didn't think he would be this way."

Sam frowned. "What way?"

Avery seemed to go limp. Like it was costing her so much energy to keep herself together that her body gave up. "He goes out of his way to make me miserable." She said quietly. "And, I get that I've made some mistakes but…he's been treating me like the dirt under his shoe long before I deserved it."

Sam felt guilt course through him. He'd watched Dean bully Avery countless times and he never really did anything to stop it.

"I'm tired Sam," Avery said. "It's so… exhausting to be around people who don't want you there. It just makes me feel so—"

"Don't say that." Sam scolded. "We want you here."

Avery looked at him. "You don't have to lie to me, Sam. The only reason I'm here is because it's too dangerous for me to be anywhere else." Avery cast her gaze down to her hands. "There are too many bad guys out there looking for me, to use me as a weapon. If the wrong person got their hands on me? Well, that would be bad."

"That isn't the only reason." Sam disagreed.

"Isn't it?" Avery asked. "It's not like I'm one of you. I'm a monster, a hybrid. Destined to be God's sock puppet." She said bitterly. "And monsters never last long around the Winchesters anyway."

Avery looked at Sam before he could protest. "And they shouldn't. This is the way it's supposed to be."

Avery sighed and went to stand up but staggered violently enough that Sam's hand shot out to steady her. The second Sam's hand touched Avery's arm something shot through him almost like an electric shock.

"What was that?" Sam asked. Avery frowned at him before giving up on trying to stand up.

"What was what?" She asked.

Sam stretched out his hand again and let his fingertips just touch the surface of Avery's arm. Again that electric like shock traveled through his fingertips and up his arm but Sam resisted the urge to pull away before instead of electricity traveling through him he felt  _emotion,_  more specifically Avery's emotions. This was...incredible.

Sam's eyebrows pulled together with a mixture of astonishment and pity. Astonishment because, holy crap Avery had accidentally made an empathic link with him, and pity because she was so… _defeated_. He could feel what she felt in that moment and it felt like he was suffocating in loneliness and misery. Sam remembered the last time Avery had made an empathy link. It was when Dean had been torturing her. And the field of her influence that time wasn't restricted to skin on skin contact.

"I—is this how you feel all the time?" Sam asked her sadly.

Avery frowned at him before glancing back down at where his hand touched her arm. Her eyes widened in realization before she jerked away and flushed. "I'm so sorry. I-I can't control it. These things keep happening without me meaning to—I'm sorry." Avery had been losing control more often then she cared to admit.

"Don't be." Sam sighed. "No wonder you want to leave. I'm sorry that you've had such a rough time here."

"It's not your fault, Sam." She frowned.

Sam shook his head. "But it is. I should have done more to make you feel at home. I mean, you lost so much in such a short period of time. And your whole world has been turned upside down."

Avery had an unreadable expression on her face and Sam inched his hand forward. Curiosity burned through him. If he could just touch her then maybe—

"You've been so good to me, Sam." She whispered gratefully. Sam's fingertips skimmed across her hand and a surge of affection that surprised him, moved into his chest to mirror hers. Sam suddenly realized how close they were to each other in the cramped room. His hand was just barely touching hers and their faces were inches apart.

He could see her flushed skin clearly in the dim light and he swallowed.

_What the hell am I doing?_

* * *

Dean frowned when he could no longer hear Avery or Sam speaking through the slightly ajar door. Dean had decided to grab a drink from the booze closet (Sam had been trying to get him to call it 'the cellar' to no avail. It wasn't even in a basement for christ's sake) when he heard the two speaking.

He had been about to walk in until he heard Avery start talking about him. Of course, Dean had no choice but to eavesdrop and was surprised to hear that apparently, Avery had held him in very high esteem until she met the real deal. Dean couldn't help but feel disappointed in himself, that he couldn't live up to her expectations. Not because he wanted to please her or win her approval. Of course not. But because they were such  _good_  expectations.

He wished he was as strong, or brave, or kind as Avery had hoped he'd be. And sometimes Dean was, but so far he had been everything but that to her.

Dean's jaw dropped when he heard— could that be? No.

Were they… _kissing?_

Without thinking, Dean threw the door open and Avery and his brother jumped apart like they had been burned.

"Oh my god." Avery buried her face in her hands and Sam started to turn beet red.

"It's not what you— we were just—" Sam stuttered but Dean held up a hand.

"No need to explain. I was just getting some whiskey." Dean's eyes fell on the bottle of rum in Sam's hand and then Avery's hand in his other.

"Looks like you two were having fun." Dean couldn't hold back the venom in his voice. He didn't know why the idea of Sam and Avery kissing, holding hands, pissed him off so much.

"I'm gonna go," Avery said hurriedly, pulling her hand out of Sam's and squeezing past Dean before disappearing down the hall. She couldn't even bring herself to look up from her feet; she was so embarrassed. The second Avery stopped touching him, Sam seemed to deflate and the embarrassment coloring his cheeks faded. Realization flooded his features.

Dean and Sam stood there silently for a moment before Dean crossed his arms. "So…you and Avery?"

Sam's eyes widened. "No! It's not like that."

Dean scoffed angrily. "Isn't it?"

Sam gave him his signature bitch face. "You don't understand, she accidentally made an empathic link—she was drunk, and lonely, and miserable—I was there and I could  _feel_  how she felt—"

"You're rambling." Dean cut his brother off deadpanned.

"And you," Sam accused. "You've been treating her like shit this whole time. I mean, no wonder she wants to leave, Dean! All you do is verbally abuse her every chance you get!"

"I do not!" Dean said indignantly. "Alright say I do," Dean amended at Sam's incredulous look. "She throws just as much crap my way as I do hers. But you're too busy protecting your little girlfriend to see that, aren't you."

"She's not my girlfriend." Sam insisted.

"Isn't she?" Dean asked.

"No! I felt the way she felt after and it was nothing. Okay?" Sam sighed.

"And is that how you feel, Sammy?" Dean cocked an eyebrow.

Sam's eyebrows furrowed. "I don't know how much of it was me and how much— It was strange. I could feel what she felt and it felt like  _I_  was feeling it. I-I think we just got…caught up in the moment."

Dean felt relief rush through him and he couldn't quite place why he was feeling it. So instead he smirked and decided to tease Sam. "Yeah? And how was that moment? Any good?"

Sam's eyes were unfocused as he remembered what the kiss was like. "It was…sad."

Dean frowned when he didn't get the reaction he wanted. "Sad? Were you really that bad?"

Sam's gaze snapped up to Dean. "What? No, I told you. She made an empathic link. I could feel how she felt and she felt…sad. Lonely."

Dean's frown deepened.

"She was just lonely, Dean. That's all it was." Sam repeated before his eyebrows pulled together in confusion. "Wait, what do you care if it was good or not?" He asked.

"I don't," Dean said quickly.

Sam's eyes widened before he smiled slightly in disbelief. "You do don't you? Are you…are you jealous?"

Dean glared at him. "Shut up."

"You are!" Sam laughed. "No wonder you've been such a dick to her."

Sam's grin widened. "It's a little cliche, isn't it? This isn't a playground Dean. You can't pull the pretty girl's hair to show her you like her."

"Shut up," Dean growled. "I mean it. And I do  _not_  like Avery. She's annoying and headstrong. She drives me up the freaking wall on good days! Not to mention she isn't even human. She's probably a thousand years old!"

"Whatever helps you sleep at night." Sam chuckled. Dean ripped a bottle of whiskey off the shelf with a noise of disgust and stormed off leaving Sam to laugh to himself silently. It suddenly made so much sense. Dean was too proud to admit he liked Avery, especially after all the fighting those two had been doing. So now his brother was stuck liking a girl who either hated him or thought he hated her.

* * *

Avery watched stonily as Dean finished packing his bag into the Impala. Cas was already sitting in the front seat waiting while Dean exchanged some last words with Sam.

"Call me if you need anything." Sam nodded and clapped his brother on the shoulder.

"I'll let you know," Dean smirked before shifting his attention to Avery. "Don't have too much fun while I'm gone." He said suggestively and Avery blushed.

Sam sighed and Dean climbed into the Impala. Avery and Sam stepped back as Dean revved the engine twice and drove away. The garage door slid down and Avery felt her heart plummet as the locks engaged loudly, their clangs reverberated through the cavernous room.

She was never going to get out of here, was she?

"Listen," Sam started. "About yesterday…"

Avery grimaced and blood rushed into her cheeks. "I'm sorry. I— it happened really fast and I don't want it to be weird—"

"No me neither," Sam said hurriedly.

Avery turned to him. "Can we just be friends that kissed that one time? No awkwardness?"

Sam gave her a relieved smile. "Yeah, just friends…" He smirked and shrugged. "That kissed that one time."

"Eww, stop it." She blushed again.

"Ew?" Sam said indignantly. "Excuse you. I happen to know for a fact that I'm a great kisser."

Avery, eternally grateful that Sam was being so graceful about the whole situation, teased him back. "Yeah, whatever helps you sleep at night, Winchester."


	12. Broken Bones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean hears bad news from his brother. Avery and Dean call a truce.

* * *

 

Ch. 12

Broken Bones

"So, this is my life. And I want you to know that I am both happy and sad and I'm still trying to figure out how that could be."

-Stephen Chbosky **,**   _The Perks of Being a Wallflower_

* * *

Dean's heart plummeted into his stomach. "What do you mean she's gone, Sam?"

_"I mean that she isn't in the bunker anymore! She left! I don't know how and when it happened, but she's gone, Dean!"_  Sam's angry voice came from the receiver.

"What the hell!" Dean shouted and Cas jumped in the seat beside him wincing slightly. He had taken a real beating against the Rit Zien. "What do you mean you don't know? You were supposed to be watching her!"

Dean heard his brother sigh heavily before continuing.  _"There's something wrong, Dean. I keep losing time, and it's not getting better. I know you keep saying that this will go away but it hasn't and now I can't remember how the hell Avery left. One minute we were talking and then suddenly half an hour had passed and she was gone."_

If Dean wasn't panicking before then, he definitely was now. He could feel its icy grip in his chest. Everything, the precarious tightrope he had been walking to keep everything from falling apart had snapped beneath him and he was in free fall. Dean felt like such an idiot for not considering Ezekiel when putting Avery under lockdown, and now he was paying the price. And even if Avery hadn't taken advantage of Ezekiel, Sam was becoming more and more suspicious.

If Sam finally figured out that he had an angel riding shotgun, he would cast out Ezekiel in a heartbeat and then die in the next. And Dean couldn't let that happen.

Dean pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath. "Okay, okay, did she take her duffel bag. The one she had with her when she got here?"

There was silence on the other end for a moment.  _"Yeah, she did. Why do you_   _ask?"_

Relief and triumph coursed through Dean and he smirked. "I hid a phone in her bag and I turned the GPS on. We can track her as long as she doesn't find the phone and ditch it."

Sam scoffed over the line.  _"Let's hope you hid it well, Dean, because if she finds it before we find her, then we're screwed."_

"I'll call you when I have news," Dean said before hanging up. "Okay, Cas, change of plans. Avery's MIA, we need to go find her."

"No Dean," Cas said grimly and Dean looked at his companion shocked. "The angels, they need help. I can no longer sit by will my brethren suffer."

"Cas, you can't go on your own without backup," Dean said earnestly. "I mean, you're human now."

"That's never stopped you or Sam before." Cas frowned and Dean bit his lip.

"What I mean is that you have a second chance and you should enjoy that. It's a brave new world, Cas." Dean laughed half-heartedly.

Cas looked at him. "I don't think that means what you think it means," Dean was stunned for a moment but Cas looked away resolved.

"I'm sorry, but this is something I must do."

Dean's smile fell and he looked away stonily. He understood where Cas was coming from and he respected his friend's decision, but that didn't mean he had to like it. "Okay, Cas,"

Castiel gave him a small smile. "Thank you, Dean."

Dean nodded and drove Castiel to the nearest motel before sending the angel off with as many supplies as he could offer. Fake IDs, money, weapons, anything the angel might need on his quest.

"Are you sure about this Cas? Sam and I could help." Dean offered again. He didn't feel right about this. It felt like he was abandoning him.

Cas nodded. "You two have your hands full with Avery and Abaddon. Besides, this is my doing. I have to fix it."

Dean looked down grimly. "Okay, call me if you need anything."

"I will," Cas promised. Dean clapped the angel's shoulder and turned to leave but Castiel stopped him one last time.

"Be patient with her. Imagine what you would do if you had the same circumstance. I am fairly certain that if you understand her, you two will be less quick to anger." Cas told him and Dean rolled his eyes.

"Okay, Dr. Phil."

Cas frowned. "That's not my name."

Dean smirked. "Alright, Katie White."

Cas squinted at Dean and his frowned deepened. "I don't understand. We've known each other for several years now—"

Dean laughed and shook his head. "Forget it Cas. I'll see you on the flip side."

"Goodbye Dean, and good luck."

* * *

I breathed in fresh air and savored its sweet taste on my tongue. Freedom. It was something I had taken for granted all my life. No one appreciates how important freedom is until it's taken away from you. I had been hitchhiking to the nearest bus station and managed to get myself within a ten-minute walking distance of it.

After one cross-country trucker had taken me as far as he could, I jogged the rest of the way to the bus station to buy the earliest ticket out of Kansas. There was a bus leaving for Illinois in fifteen minutes, so I bought it and retreated to a corner of the station where it was less populated and I was less likely to be disturbed.

I rummaged through my bag for a moment before pulling out a beaten up copy of  _The Screwtape Letters_. I pulled down the brim of the baseball cap I had purchased that proudly sported the Jayhawks logo and I flipped open to where I had last left off.

I quickly found that no matter how hard I tried to concentrate on my book, I couldn't. The elation of being free from the bunker had quickly dissipated and was replaced with paranoia that at any moment, Sam would appear through the entrance of the bus station and find me.

I glanced at the clock over the register every couple of minutes impatiently. Every second I wasn't on the move was a second that the boys could be using to close in on me. The only comfort I had was that Dean was still on the hunt with Cas. It would take him a while to get back to Kansas.

Time ticked by at a snail's pace but finally, there was an announcement over the speaker that my bus was ready to leave. I packed up my things and trudged over to get in line to board the bus. I froze when I saw a tall, muscular man with light hair get out of a rusty Ford pickup truck.

I quickly turned around and put as many people between myself and the man to try and hide. I peeked over a grumpy elderly woman's shoulder just to make sure I wasn't being paranoid but my fears were confirmed. It hadn't been a trick of the light. The man that had just gotten out of the truck wasn't a man at all.

His face was disfigured and charred like it had been held against an open flame. The skin was dripping off his skull, blistered and angry. But his eyes were the most frightening. They were a startling coal black, deep and fathomless, cold. He was a demon.

I didn't know how I was able to see the demon's true face

I quickly got on the bus and had my ticket punched before getting to the back and drawing the shades on my window. I sank as far down as I could in my seat and I prayed that the bus would start moving and get me the hell away from that place.

I kept a watchful eye through the space between my seat to see if the demon had gotten on the bus with me, but the man never appeared. The doors on the bus closed and it rumbled to life before crawling out of the depot. I let out a sigh of relief and leaned back in my chair.

I peeked out of the window and could clearly make out the same man fading in the distance as the bus drove further and further away.

How had that demon known where to find me? I was deeply unsettled that after only being out of the bunker for a couple of hours I was already confronted with a supernatural creature.

Maybe he wasn't actually looking for me. I thought to myself. Demons were pretty rampant these days so it could be perfectly practical that it was there for other reasons. The bus station was located near a crossroads.

But that wasn't a crossroads demon. It had black eyes, not red.

"Shut up brain," I growled to myself. I was definitely overthinking the whole thing…but just in case…

I pulled out a sharpie from my backpack and pushed the sleeve on my left arm up. I pulled the cap off the sharpie with my teeth and started to draw the anti-possession sigil on my arm. It was a little lopsided and the edges and the flames where a little smudged from where my fingers rubbed into the wet ink, but it was clear enough that it would do the job.

"You really shouldn't draw on yourself."

I looked over at the slight brunette in the seat across the aisle who had spoken. She pulled out the earbuds she was wearing and I could hear the faint sound of music leaking from them. The volume must've been pretty high for me to able to hear it on the noisy bus and I wondered how she wasn't deafened by it.

"They've linked liver failure and nerve disorders to people that've drawn on themselves with permanent marker." She continued and I found myself a little annoyed. Who the hell did she think she was lecturing a complete stranger?

"I'll be fine but thanks for your concern," I responded a little rudely.

"Are you a Satanist or something?" The girl asked curiously and I balked at her.

"Uh…no."

"Cuz your doodle sure looks Satan-y." She flashed me a toothy grin and I glanced around to see if anyone other than myself was witnessing the strange encounter.

"It's for protection." I stuttered without thinking and pulled my sleeve down to cover the now dry sharpie tattoo.

"From what?" The girl asked excitedly. "Satan?"

"No!" What was with this chick and Satan? "I just found a picture of this online and I thought it looked cool." Hopefully, that was explanation enough for the girl and she would leave me alone.

The girl frowned at me. "You're going to risk liver failure to look cool?"

"At least I'm not shooting up heroin." I smiled facetiously and turned away signaling that I was not interested in continuing the conversation.

"My name's Sadie if you were wondering." The girl, Sadie, chirped. I narrowed my eyes at her and muttered 'Christo' under my breath.

"What was that?" She asked but didn't flinch. I let out a little sigh of relief. I didn't know how I was able to see the demon's true face and I didn't know how to turn it on and off. When I met Crowley, I couldn't see his true face. It made me angry that I didn't know the rules of my powers or their extent. For God's sake, I had once erected a force field during the confrontation with the wicked witch but try as I might, I couldn't recreate one.

"Nothing," I shook my head and then added hesitantly. "My name's Avery."

"That's the spirit!" Sadie grinned. "I couldn't help notice you sad sacking it all alone. What's got you down, hun?"

I gaped at her again. I had never, in my entire life, met someone so nosy.

"Is it a boy?" She whispered conspiratorially. "I bet it's a boy."

"Kind of…" I muttered uncomfortably and glanced out the window. "It's complicated."

The girl jumped out of her seat and took the one next to me which was alarming, to say the least. "Then un-complicate, dear. This boy, do you love him?"

"What?" I spluttered and felt my cheeks go red. "No! We aren't even friends."

Sadie smiled at me knowingly. "You don't have to be friends to be lovers."

"We are not lovers!" I choked out.

"Well, you're something!" Sadie giggled delightedly. "I've never seen someone turn so red so quickly."

"It's really not what you think," I assured her. I wondered how Sadie would feel if I told her that I was escaping my captors and not running away from my 'true love'.

* * *

Dean watched as the little blinking dot headed east.

"Where are you going?" He muttered to himself quietly. After making a quick pitstop at the bunker, he had immediately started following Avery's trail. Sam tried to insist on accompanying him but Dean refused.

"I drove her away. I need to bring her back." Dean had said gruffly throwing spare clothes in his bag.

"I can help you." Sam protested angrily.

"No you can't, she's already skittish enough," Dean argued. "A hunting party won't make this easier. She'll fight harder if she thinks the threat is bigger."

"Then why don't I go?" Sam asked. "You two have never been on good terms. What makes you think that if you go, she'll come quietly?"

"I don't think she'll come quietly." Dean scoffed. "And you can't go because you might go all Memento. What if it gets worse while you're out looking and you lose a week? Two?"

Dean felt guilty using his brother's condition, which was his fault, against him. But the real reason he didn't want Sam to come was because it wouldn't just be Sam. Ezekiel was still riding shotgun and from what he could gather, Ezekiel was the one that let Avery leave.

He didn't have time to confront the angel while Avery was getting further and further away. He also didn't want Sam to have to go through another blackout. Not when he was on high alert.

"Look," Dean sighed. "I'll be back in no time. All right? It will be fine."

Sam looked at his brother. "Just— try to be understanding okay?"

Dean rolled his eyes. First Cas and now Sam? "All right princess I will."

Dean started up the Impala once he saw the red dot get onto the interstate. If he had to guess, Avery probably had gotten on the first bus out of Kansas. If he could get in front of her then maybe he could cut her off before she discovered the phone.

He peeled out of the empty lot and started to follow Avery's trail. Dean didn't know what he was going to do when he eventually caught up with her. He didn't want to have to bring her back using force. Honestly, he was tired of fighting with her. It was exhausting and too reminiscent of a chick-flick for his taste.

He knew that he would have to approach with caution and follow Sam and Cas's advice. Be understanding.

The only way this would work is if she trusted him. He needed to find a way to relate to her and make her feel like they were both on the same side.

Dean sighed. How he was going to do that? He had no idea.

* * *

"So what's in Illinois?"

I closed my eyes and sighed. I had managed to read about two and a half pages of my book before Sadie had decided to bombard me with more questions that were none of her damn business.

"Another bus to another state," I told her.

"And where will that bus take you?" She pressed.

"To another bus that will take me to another state." I slammed my book shut and glared at her but she didn't seem put off by my hostility.

Sadie gave me a knowing look. "So you're running."

I shrugged.

"Why?" She asked me and I gave her a tired look.

"A lot of reasons— look, Sadie, you seem nice and all but this isn't any of your business and I would appreciate it if you could just leave me alone, okay?" I said, quickly turning away and reopening the book. I didn't want to see her hurt expression.

"Sorry…" Sadie said slowly. "I didn't mean to pry."

"It's okay." I managed tightly still not looking up from my book.

"Are you running from your boyfriend?"

"Oh my god."

* * *

Dean was only about an hour behind Avery when he stopped to refill the Impala. He checked her location on his phone and frowned when he realized that she had stopped moving as well, in Illinois. He zoomed in the GPS and found that her little red dot had stopped at the bus station and didn't seem to be moving.

That meant one of two things: She had found the phone and ditched it, or she was waiting for another bus.

He ripped the pump out of the car and quickly paid for the gas. He had to get to that bus station before Avery set off again.

* * *

I was sitting on my duffel waiting for my bus to arrive when my stomach churned and my vision blurred. Suddenly I wasn't at the bus station anymore. I looked down at myself and found that I was wearing a Victorian-era bottle green dress.

"Avery, run!" Slater laughed delightedly as an angry man barreled through the shop I was in towards us.

My feet moved of their own accord and I hiked up my skirts so I could run after Slater who had already bolted out the door.

"Wait for me, you prat!" I called in a false English accent. An excellent one, though, if I did say so myself.

"You lot won't get away with it this time!" The shopkeeper roared. "I'll 'ave all o' Scotland Yard come down on your bloody 'eads, mark my words!"

I squealed in delight—yeah,  _squealed_ — and turned the corner down an alley. We ran until I was out of breath and then we skidded to a stop once we had lost the shopkeeper.

"You've done it now, Thomas." I scolded breathlessly barely managing to hold back my laughter.

"Oh, it's Thomas now?" He teased giving me a light shove. I noticed how my accent had vanished entirely now that I was alone with Slater.

"Yes, it is." I crossed my arms and cocked an eyebrow at him.

"Don't pretend like you didn't have fun." Slater grinned.

I turned away from him and humphed, but I couldn't keep the smile completely off my lips.

"Wait, what's that?" Slater said in mock surprise. "Is that a smile I see?" His fingers darted out and he started tickling me. I squealed  _again_.

"Tommy! Cut it out!" I gasped with laughter and slapped his hands away.

"Not until you forgive me." He said mischievously. I tried to run from him but Slater wouldn't have it. He wrapped his arms around my waist and pulled me back while still managing to tickle my sides wickedly.

"Fine! Fine, I forgive you!" I relented between giggles.

"Of course you do," Slater said with a soft smile as his hands slid from my waist to hold mine.

"There they are!"

We both jumped and turned to see the shopkeeper flanked by two police officers.

"Well damn!" Slater chuckled. "Have you caught your breath? I can't have you slowing me down." He asked me with a grin.

I smacked him. "You're also not wearing a corset."

Slater shook his head and grinned before he tugged on my hand and we started running down the alley once more.

The Victorian street melted away and I blanched when I saw the time and realized I'd missed my bus.

_What the hell just happened?_

I jumped up shakily realizing I had no time to spare and I picked up all my belongings. I was walking from here and I needed to find a ride soon if I was going to get out of Illinois.

I thought furiously about the vision or memory that I had just experienced as cars rushed past me. I walked down the road further and further away from the station. Every so often I would stop and hold out my thumb to try and flag down a car but no one stopped for me.

Slater and I had been very close once upon a time. And from the looks of it, he'd been very mischievous. Not at all the responsible man I'd met a couple of weeks ago. But all in all the content of the memory was very unimportant. Why had I remembered it now? What triggered it?

I kept walking but froze when I heard an unmistakable rumble from behind me. My heart plummeted into my stomach and I felt like someone had poured cold water down my neck.

The Impala.

I dove off the side of the road and rushed into the forest I was walking along. I kept running until I couldn't hear the car anymore and then I stopped before hiding behind a tree.

My heart pounded unsteadily in my chest and I fought to quiet my breathing. Minutes passed and I heard nothing besides the wind rustling through the dry leaves and the songs of the birds in the trees.

_Snap_

The echo of the branch breaking underfoot startled the birds from their perches and I felt my entire body tense. I could hear Dean's footfalls heavy on the forest floor. They were much too close for comfort and I knew I wasn't going to be able to outrun him if it came down to a chase.

I quietly and slowly unzipped my duffel bag and cringed at the tiny noise the zipper made each time I moved past every set of teeth. I stuck my hand in the small opening and groped through my belongings for the gun I'd stashed there.

When my hand finally closed around it, I pulled the gun out and held it to my chest. I let my bag rest at the foot of the tree and waited for the inevitable.

There was another snap and I realized that if I let Dean get too close, he would be able to disarm me. So at that moment, I decided to reveal myself, gun trained on my pursuer.

But it wasn't Dean.

"Who are you," I demanded. The man in front of me didn't even look startled at the sight of my weapon. He was tall and burly with dark black hair and olive skin. The man must've weighed at least two hundred pounds, a third of which was muscle.

"It doesn't matter who I am. It matters who you are." The man answered and a sick grin started to creep across his face. "Abbadon has been looking for you." His eyes flickered and turned black.

This was so much worse than Dean finding me.  _So. Much. Worse._

"Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus—"

The demon growled and closed the distance between us in a few short steps. "Omnis satanica potestas!" I tossed the gun to the side—It was no use to me now—and I fumbled with my inside jacket pocket where I had the angel blade. Before I could pull it out the demon's fist closed around my throat and he threw me to the ground pinning me there under his massive weight.

_Goddamit!_  I seethed as I struggled for air. Why did the bad guys always go for choking? I resisted the urge to scratch at his meaty fists and I spat out a couple of more words in Latin with the air I had left.

Thankfully the demon hissed and shuddered from the exorcism and I was able to use the distraction to pull out the blade and bury it in his chest. The demon went stiff as his entire being flickered and dissipated from existence. When it was finally gone the man's hands went limp and he fell to the side allowing air to rush back into my burning lungs.

I dragged in a hideous breath and choked violently as my lungs tried to get re-accustomed to oxygen.

"H-help." Came a weak voice from my left and I froze.  _Oh no._

"Please," The voice cut off with a wet gargling cough and then started again. "Please, I have a w-wife, kids. Help me." I turned to look at the man I had just stabbed in horror before I scrambled towards him and pressed my hands over the gaping hole in his chest. Blood bubbled through my fingers despite my efforts and I felt tears slide down my cheeks.

"Oh god," I whispered in terror.  _What did I do?_

"Please."

I looked at the man. He was grimacing in agony and there was a thin trail of blood running down the side of his mouth. His teeth were stained red like he'd eaten several pomegranates and I couldn't help but notice how beautiful the man's eyes were when he opened them.

"I'm so sorry," I said thickly, my voice chased by more tears.

"Why—?" More blood bubbled up between my fingers and the man started thrashing. His eyes rolled to the back of his head and then he was still.

"Oh god, oh god!" I sobbed again and again. I pressed my lips to the man's and breathed into his lungs for him before starting compressions. "Please wake up!" I begged and breathed for him again. I could taste his coppery blood on my lips and I felt my stomach heave. I swallowed the nausea and I kept trying to resuscitate him.

Every single time I pressed down blood pumped through him and out the wound. I tried plugging it and doing compressions but I couldn't. His blood kept leaking out of him. I didn't know how long I was there, pumping the man's chest, but he started to get stiff and cold.

I finally fell back on my thighs defeated and shaking.

My hands were stained with drying blood and my face was wet with tears. How many people had I killed now? Three? Four?

I suddenly longed for Dean to find me. I didn't know what I was doing anymore. All I knew was that I was getting people killed. But just as quickly as the thought entered my mind, I drove it out.

The desperation and hopelessness of being a prisoner in that bunker would kill me if I had to endure it indefinitely. I couldn't live like that.

_But can I live like this?_

I took a deep breath and backed away from the man's corpse—God, I didn't even know his name— tears still rushed down my face but I wasn't crying anymore. I pulled out a bottle of water from my bag and washed off the blood as best I could. The water was gone before the blood was so I wiped my hands on my jeans. The stains left there looked like they could be from anything.

I swallowed and realized that the man's blood was still on my lips. I wondered for a single numb moment if the blood still classified as demon, and if I would get psychic powers from it, before I turned and wretched violently into a neighboring bush.

_Murderer. Murderer. Murderer._

I wiped my lips and picked up my duffel.

_Murderer._

I found my gun and stuck it in my back pocket.

_Murderer._

I glanced at the fallen man one last time before walking out of the forest and back to the road.

_Murderer._


	13. The Lucky One

———————————————————————————————————

Ch. 13

 

The Lucky One

 

"Oh, it's okay...I'm just having a bad day... week... month... year...

life..." -Unknown

————————————————————————————————————

Dean refreshed the GPS tracking page for a third time but he was in bum-fuck-nowhere. No satellite device, no 4G, no wifi, and subsequently no updated location. He parked the Impala and got out at Avery’s last known location to see if he could get any clues about what she did there before he set out to find civilization.

 

He walked up and down a mile length of the road before stopping. The whole bank by the road was covered in piles of leaves at least a foot deep except for one area. The leaves were strewn haphazardly like someone had run through them and slipped a little while doing so; causing the leaves to skate out into the open road.

 

Dean looked around for a moment before deciding to investigate. 

 

If Avery had passed through there, then something must have happened to make her do so. 

 

But what? Why would she have needed to run into the forest? Maybe to pee? 

 

_Or maybe something spooked her._ Dean thought darkly. His stomach turned and he followed the loud trail that Avery had left behind. If it even _was_ Avery. 

 

Dean stopped when he saw a dark lump that didn’t match the rest of the forest floor jutting out into the twilight. He could smell the telltale metallic scent of blood in the wind and Dean clenched his jaw in outright refusal. _It can’t be her._

 

It only took a couple of more steps to dispel his panic. The body was much too large to be Avery’s, not to mention it was distinctly masculine and completely unlike Avery’s slender curves. 

 

Dean examined the body. There was a stab wound to the chest and the shape of the wound matched that of an angel blade. The man also had scratch marks on his hands and arms. 

 

Dean sat back on his heels and scrubbed his jaw. The only reason Avery would have used that blade is if her attacker—and with scratches like those on the man’s hands, Dean was sure that he attacked her—was an angel or a demon. Dean was banking on demon since he knew that Abaddon had put a hit on Avery.

 

“Shit,” Dean said. He wasn’t the only one on Avery’s tail and it looked like the wrong people were having better luck than he was. Dean wanted to cover Avery’s tracks because he knew it was only a matter of time that the man was discovered, but Dean also didn’t want to get further behind Avery than he already was. There were demons on her tail and he needed to get to her before they did. 

 

————————————————————————————————————

I managed to get to Indiana before I finally stopped at a roadside motel. I was exhausted to the very bone. I hadn’t let myself sleep while I was with any of the truckers I hitched a ride with. Too many variables, too many close calls in too short a timeframe. God help me, I stopped and I crashed into that disgusting itchy bed. With salt on the windowsills and along the front door, I took my first breath of relief in almost two days. 

 

Sam and Dean had no way of tracking me down now. I had used cash the entire way and since that last bus stop there were no camera feeds to lead them towards me. I dared to hope that I had finally shaken them off my tail. 

 

With that thought I let sleep take me.

 

————————————————————————————————————

 

Dean stopped at a Super 8 motel just outside of Richmond and stared at the red dot on his phone display that had been blinking steadily over the motel for the past couple of hours. She was here. 

 

The relief at having found her so quickly was almost sickening in its ferocity. Dean had been so terrified that something had happened to her but now he knew that she was 50 feet away and perfectly safe. 

 

Dean sat in the idling Impala for another couple of minutes. Why the hell hadn’t he gotten out and found out which room she was in yet? Nothing was stopping him, or at least nothing physical. Dean still didn’t know what the hell he was going to do when he saw her. Hell, he didn’t know what _she_ was going to do when he saw her. She’d definitely try to run and he’d have to stop her.

 

The very idea made him feel heavy. He didn’t _want_ that. He didn’t want the very sight of him to make Avery want to bolt. Goddamit, he didn’t want to be the bad guy anymore. But Dean knew that was all on him. No one made him act like a douchebag. No one made him act like the biggest asshole on earth. No one made him the bad guy. He did that all by himself. 

 

Another couple of minutes passed.

 

Dean would kill for some Jim Beam right about now. Anything to take the edge off. Nothing like a little bit of liquid courage to help confront a girl who couldn’t even be in the same room with him without wanting to run in the opposite direction. 

 

Dean scoffed bitterly. Then again it wasn’t just Avery who felt that way. It seemed like everyone was ready to leave him behind these days. Story of his—goddamn—life. Shit, if he hadn’t gotten that angel in Sam, then he would have gone right ahead and died. Just like that. No fight, no fuss, just dead. Dean didn’t want to believe it when Ezekiel told him, but he knew it was true. And now Cas was gone too. Granted, he understood why Cas left, hell, Dean would’ve done the same in his shoes, but it still stung. Dean couldn’t help but feel the rejection and abandonment even if only slightly. 

 

Maybe that’s why he couldn’t get out of this car. He couldn’t deal with people leaving him in the dirt anymore. Maybe that’s why he drove Avery away in the first place. That way he knew it was _his_ choice. She didn’t leave because she wanted to. She left because he made her leave.

 

That’s sure as shit why he kicked her out the first time. Dean didn’t want to admit it to himself but he knew that was true. Dean saw Slater and then he saw red. Dean knew that it was a matter of time before she up and left with the guy, so he saved himself the trouble and kicked her out first.

 

But now that Slater was gone and Dean was stuck with Avery—human nuke— he was in a fine mess. Dean had accomplished what he’d set out to do. Push Avery away. But the catch was, now he _needed_ her to stay. And not just cuz she was a weapon of mass destruction. No, Dean knew better than that. He’d been so goddamn lonely and, Jesus, _needy_. Dean remembered how it felt to have Avery hold onto him like that. He had to feel a real live human need him back and shit did that scare him. It felt disgusting, perverse. Dean knew that Avery would have never held him that way consciously. He knew it was a reflex of hers, he knew it the second he pulled away and she substituted him for a pillow. 

 

He felt like he’d stolen that embrace from her, and it sickened him because she didn’t even fucking know it.

 

“Stop being a pussy.” Dean finally growled. A full half hour had passed and all he’d managed to accomplish was figure out just how pathetic he really was. Had he honestly just sat there and deconstructed how he felt over an accidental cuddle?

 

Dean shut off the engine and got out of the car. He stuffed his hands in his jacket pockets to shield them from the brisk night air and made his way into the lobby where an oily teenage kid—Roy—sat flipping through a magazine. 

 

His name tag boasted ‘assistant manager’ and Roy looked annoyed when Dean tapped his finger on the bell.

 

“How can I help you tonight, sir?” He asked in a petulant and bored voice. 

 

Dean cocked an eyebrow. “Yeah, I’m looking for someone. A girl, she has wavy blonde hair, grey eyes, about 5’ 7?”

 

Dean saw a flicker of recognition cross Roy’s face. “What’s it to you?”

 

Dean wasn’t in the mood to try and weasel the information out of this kid, so he pulled out his fed badge and enjoyed watching the blood seep out of the guy’s face. “You tell me where she is or I arrest you right now for obstruction of justice.”

 

“Y-yes, sir! Right away s-sir.” The boy fumbled with the registry and hastily handed Dean a fresh key card to let him into Avery’s room.

 

“Thank you for your cooperation.” Dean smiled stonily and stalked away. 

 

Dean hesitated for a split second before pushing himself to open the door. The room was pitch black but the light from the overhead lamp seeped into the room and illuminated the salt line Dean had inadvertently broken. 

 

“Good girl,” Dean said to himself quietly. Dean felt his heart skip when he saw Avery passed out cold on the musty motel bed. She was lying on her stomach on top of one of the pillows. She hadn’t even bothered getting under the sheets or changing into night clothes. 

 

Dean didn’t know what to do for a moment. He didn’t want to wake her because, damn, she must have been exhausted not to have woken up at the door opening. Dean bit his lip and finally opted for the solitary wooden chair next to the small dining table before closing the door. Dean was a notoriously light sleeper so the second that she woke up, he would too. 

 

———————————————————————————————————-

 

Sunlight streamed through the window and I cursed at myself for not closing the heavy blackout curtains. My whole body ached from yesterday’s excursions and my throat was sore and scratchy to boot. 

 

I groaned and closed my eyes at the intruding sun before rolling over and sitting up. I braced myself for the rays of light that would no doubt burn my corneas to a crisp and I slowly opened them only to be welcomed to a sight so terrifying I almost screamed.

 

_Dean._

 

He was sound asleep in the wooden chair across from my bed with his feet propped up against the table. It looked ridiculously uncomfortable and I couldn’t fathom how he had managed to fall asleep like that in the first place. Which also begged the question:

 

Why?

 

Why had he snuck into my room and went to sleep instead of waking me up and dragging me back to the bunker? And how the hell did he even find me! 

 

I didn’t dare move a muscle. Dean couldn’t sleep through the slightest of noises, he was too wound up all the time and his hunter instincts were always razor sharp. 

 

I glanced around the room and almost cried when I couldn’t find my duffel bag. The bastard had hidden it! Or he’d taken it and stowed it in the Impala. Either way, I was screwed. 

 

Everything I owned was in that freaking duffel and without it, I wouldn't make it very far. 

 

_Shit. Shit. Shit._

 

What was I going to do? 

 

Dean stirred in his sleep. I slammed my eyes shut and gritted my teeth. 

 

_Please don’t wake up. Please, please, please, don’t wake up._

 

The sound of my heart beating in my chest was deafening. I could feel it throbbing and slamming against my ribs like a frightened animal trying to escape its cage. When nothing happened, I opened my eyes again.

 

“Morning.” Dean had opened one eye and was looking at me challengingly. My eyes darted towards the door and I tensed my entire body, ready to fly out of bed and run for it. 

 

“Please don’t.” Dean sighed and sat up in his chair. I flinched when his feet hit the ground with two dull thumps. “I really don’t want to have to chase you.” 

 

There was a tense moment in which we just stared at each other. 

 

I sprang out of bed and sprinted to the door which I ripped open. But before I could run any further out into the street, two arms wrapped around my waist and dragged me back in. I started to scream in the hopes that a stranger would hear me and come to my aid but Dean’s warm, calloused hand clamped down over my mouth and muffled me. 

 

“Would you calm down!” He growled while I tried to kick out his legs. “Stop it!”

 

I let out another muffled protest and threw my head back to hit him in the face but he dodged it expertly. 

 

“Could you just listen for one goddamn second? I’m not here to drag you back home!”Dean said.

 

I stopped struggling at that and turned to look at Dean as best I could to shoot him a surprised and skeptical look.

 

“If I let go,” Dean asked, his green eyes hesitant, “Will you promise not to run so I can explain?” 

 

I nodded timidly and Dean slowly released the vise he had around me. I pushed his hand away from my face and I backed away, surprised at how meek Dean looked. 

 

“If you’re not here to bring me back then why are you here?” I asked immediately.

 

“Well, I am here to bring you back,” Dean scratched the back of his neck. “But not by force!” He added quickly when he saw my reaction. 

 

I crossed my arms. “I’ll save you the trouble. There is nothing you could say or do that would make me come back.”

 

Dean huffed in frustration. “Why the hell not!” 

 

“You know why!” I bit back indignantly.

 

Dean scoffed. “What because we disagree once in a while?”

 

I laughed in bitter disbelief. “It’s far from once in a while and a little more than disagree, but yes, among other things.”

 

Dean frowned. “What other things?”

 

I could feel myself deflate a little and my chest tightened. “I—I can’t _live_ like that, Dean. Like a prisoner. It’s lonely and suffocating and _maddening_. It was driving me crazy and then to top it all off I had you verbally abusing me, making me feel like shit, every single second of every single day.” I shook my head.“I can’t live like that.”

 

I bit my lip and looked away. “I _won’t_.” 

 

Dean took a deep breath before sighing heavily. 

 

“There’s nothing you can say to make me go back to that,” I repeated. 

 

“You’re not safe out here,” Dean said firmly, quietly. He took a step forward like he was going to try and plead with me but when I instinctively took a step backwards, he froze. 

 

“Like hell I’m not.” I could tell by Dean’s face that he had caught me in my lie instantly. 

 

“So you didn’t kill that guy offI-70?” 

 

I reared back like I’d been slapped and tears instantly sprang into my eyes. I remembered the man’s voice as clear as if he were speaking to me right then and there, begging me to help him, save him. He’d had a wife and children who would never see him again. His entire life had ended in the five seconds it took for me to stab him. After that moment I had sealed his fate. Dean walked towards me until my back hit the wall and he was barely a foot away.

 

“Was it a demon, one of Abbadon’s hit men?” Dean pressed cautiously. “Did he do that to you?” 

 

I knew that he meant the ugly purple bruises on my neck from when the demon tried to choke the life out of me. But it didn’t matter that it had been a demon who did it. Because it wasn’t _just_ that demon. There had been a man trapped inside himself and unable to control his own limbs.

 

And _I_ killed him.

 

Shame burned through me like molten iron, searing my every organ from the inside out. I killed that man. An innocent man. I nodded slowly but couldn’t muster the courage to look Dean in the eye. The guilt was too much. I waited for accusations to be hurled my way. I waited for the verbal punishment I deserved. I waited for Dean to say, ‘I told you so’ and insist that I return with him. 

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

My head snapped up in surprise and my shock grew two-fold when I saw how _genuine_ Dean looked. 

 

“That shouldn’t have happened to you,” The back of Dean’s knuckles brushed the purple bruises on my neck and my breath caught in my throat. “ _This_ shouldn’t have happened.” 

 

I took a deep wavering breath. “I…he, the guy the demon was possessing…he—uh—he didn’t die… right away.” I said thickly. 

 

Dean’s face fell and I could tell by his features alone what he was thinking. _Shit_. 

 

“I—uh—tried to stop the bleeding a-and do CPR but he—“ My voice broke and I pushed past him when the tears started falling. The horror and disgust rose up into my chest and had a party with my self-loathing, all while Dean watched. The shame of being weak mingling with everything else felt overwhelming to the point where I didn’t even know what to do with myself. 

 

I sucked in a quiet breath through my teeth and tried to calm myself down but I could feel my whole body start to tremble. I pressed a fist to my heart which throbbed painfully.

 

“Hey,” Dean said softly from behind me and placed a comforting hand on my shoulder. I shrugged it off roughly.

 

“No, come on.” Dean pulled me around and wrapped his arms around me. One arm around my waist and one hand cupping the back of my head. I wanted to fight him off but I couldn’t bring myself to reject the comfort he was offering, the comfort I so desperately needed.

 

I wrapped my arms around his waist and clutched his shirt like it was the only thing left grounding me to earth. I wept quietly into his chest and he squeezed me tighter like it was the only thing he knew how to do.

 

I cried hard and fast. I gave myself one minute to give in and then I buttoned up. I pushed down everything I was feeling and pulled myself back together just as quickly. I pulled away and Dean let his arms drop instantly. A quick brush of my arm across my face to dry all evidence of my tears and I regained my composure. I glanced at Dean quickly and saw that he looked slightly pained.

 

“Sorry,” I cleared my throat and stepped away. 

 

Dean stared at me. “Come back.”

 

I gave a frustrated sigh.

 

“No, you know I don’t need to list all the reasons why you can’t stay on your own,” Dean argued. 

 

“I’ll be fine, Dean.” I insisted. 

 

“You’re already not fine! You’ve been gone a day and look what happened.” Dean said pointedly.

 

“Oh fuck you,” I spat angrily, tears threatening to fall again. “You don’t get to hold that over me.” 

 

Dean sighed and scrubbed his face. “I’m not. And I’m not trying to fight with you either. I’m tired of fighting.”

 

I paused. “Yeah…me too.” And I was. Fighting with Dean was exhausting. It took energy that I didn’t have. 

 

We were both silent and stared at each other. Sometime during that silence, we came to an agreement. No. More. Fighting. Dean sat down on the bed and I leaned against the wall.

 

“How’d you get out anyways?” Dean asked.

 

“How’d you find me?” I returned.

 

“I asked first,” Dean smirked stiffly. 

 

I shuffled my feet and crossed my arms. “Ezekiel. I made a deal with him.” 

 

Dean’s eyebrows furrowed and he looked distantly angry. And for the first time, I knew that anger wasn’t for me. “That’s what I thought. What did you promise him?”

 

“Nope,” I popped the ‘p.’ “Your turn.”

 

Dean gave a short soft laugh, the tiniest hint of pride on his lips. He stood up from his place on the bed and pulled out my duffel bag from under it.

 

So _that’s_ where he hid it. 

 

In one fluid motion, Dean unzipped my bag and started rummaging through it.

 

I sprang up indignantly. “Hey! Boundaries! You can’t just go looking through my—”

 

Dean pulled out a cellphone I’d never seen before in my life and held it up triumphantly. 

 

“I don’t get it,”I frowned in confusion. “What does a phone—oh!” The fucking GPS. “Son. Of. A. Bitch.”

 

Dean smirked and I laughed slightly. I had to give it to him. It was a clever trick. 

 

“More than just a pretty face, huh Winchester?” I snatched my bag from the bed in zipped it up. 

 

“So you think I’m pretty?” Dean teased and I felt myself turn red.

 

“The prettiest of all the princesses in the land.”

 

“You’re hilarious,” Dean said deadpanned and it was my turn to smirk back.

 

“I know.”

 

“Don’t think I forgot. It’s your turn now.” Dean said pointedly and I sighed. I didn’t know how to break the news to Dean that Ezekiel wasn’t actually Ezekiel. The reason he’d let me go was because I threatened to expose him. 

 

“You have to promise not to freak out,” I told him slowly and Dean frowned.

 

“Why would I freak out?” He asked anxiously. 

 

“I mean it Dean,” I warned. “You have a bad habit of shooting first and asking questions later and if you do that this time people could die.”

 

Dean shot up and closed the distance between us angrily. “Avery,” He growled. “What did you do?”

 

“It’s not what I did,” I spat. “It’s what _you_ did. Now sit down and shut up.” 

 

Dean cocked an eyebrow and crossed his arms instead. 

 

I sighed again and looked down at my feet. “Ezekiel’s real name is Gadreel.”

 

There was a beat of silence and I looked back up at Dean who had a blank expression on his face. His jaw dropped open and then snapped closed before opening again. “Do you mean that—?”

 

“He lied.” I finished for him. “Dean,” I warned again softly as I saw his features morph. 

 

It was my turn now to stop Dean from bolting out the door. “Dean, listen to me!” I begged and tried to pull him back by his forearm. _Goddamn,_ Dean was strong. He easily dragged me halfway across the room and I tried not to focus too hard on his bulging bicep underneath my fingers.

 

“Let go, Avery!” He ground out and tried to shake me off him. 

 

“No!” I realized that I would never be able to hold him back so I threw myself in front of the door and blocked it as well as I could with my body. “Dean, please.”

 

“Get out of my way! There is a random angel inside of Sam who could up and leave any second and take Sam’s meat suit with him!” Dean roared. 

 

“I know! And if you rush into this, then you’re going to get people killed!” I yelled back and braced myself when I saw Dean move to push me out of the way. 

 

But then…he stopped. He looked at me with sudden realization. “You knew the whole time,” Dean said softly. “Holy shit,” He ran his hands through his hair in disbelief, “you knew this whole time. That TV show that you watch…you knew the whole time and you didn’t tell us.” 

 

Dean’s anger returned in full force. “You didn’t tell _me_.” 

 

“I can explain, Dean, but you have to listen to me,” I said desperately. “I have a plan to fix this.”

 

Dean’s jaw clenched and his lips thinned as he tried to control his temper. Finally, he took me by the upper arm, roughly dragged me to the wooden chair he’d slept in the night before, and sat me down. “Talk.” 

 

I took a deep breath and started. “Gadreel is the angel who was supposed to guard the Garden of Eden against evil. But because of him, Lucifer got in and tempted humanity which led to the fall.”

 

Dean’s eyes widened at the implication and then self-loathing flooded into his face. He had allowed the angel who caused the fall of humanity into his brother. 

 

“Heaven then threw him in prison and he’s been there for all of eternity… until Metatron did the spell and cast all the angels out.” I waited a beat for Dean to process the new information before continuing. “The real Ezekiel died in the fall, but Gadreel had heard that he was well liked, so that’s we he chose him. And he answered your prayer because he bet that he would be safest with the Winchesters on his side.”

 

Dean scrubbed his face in frustration and started pacing the room, “That son of a bitch.” He cursed. “I trusted him! We fought together!” He stopped abruptly and turned to me. “Don’t stop now. What else do you know about this?” 

 

I bit my lip and prepared myself for Dean’s next reaction. “In the show, you figure out that Gadreel isn’t Ezekiel and you ask Kevin to help you find a spell to cast him out of Sam. What you didn’t know is that Gadreel overheard you and that he had been meeting with Metatron.”

 

“Oh fuck.”

 

I nodded carefully. “Metatron makes a deal with him to restore his reputation in exchange for him to kill the people on his shit-list.”

 

“So what?” Dean asked angrily. “This Gadreel dick kills me? Sam? Cas?”

 

“Kevin.” I corrected softly.

 

“What? Why!” Dean asked shame and horror seeping into his voice and making it rise an octave. 

 

“Metatron wanted the tablets and he wanted to cut you guys off from someone who could read them. He also turns off a ‘switch’ in heaven so that no new prophets can be realized.” I explained and Dean sat down again. I waited for him to freak out again, but he didn’t. Instead, he looked up from his hands and gave me a heavy look. 

 

“So, you said you had a plan to fix this?”

 

"I do." I sighed in relief and sat down next to him.

 

Dean laughed weakly, despondently. “I'm all ears, Avery. What did you have in mind?”

 

I rested my hand gently on his shoulder and shook my head slightly. “You're not gonna like it.”

  
————————————————————————————————————


	14. That Dangerous Road

* * *

Ch. 14

That Dangerous Road

"I was about half in love with her by the time we sat down. That's the thing about girls. Every time they do something pretty…you fall half in love with them, and then you never know where the hell you are."

— J. D. Salinger, The Catcher In The Rye

* * *

The leather of the Impala's steering wheel creaked as Dean's fists tightened around it. Avery was right. He didn't just not like her plan. He hated it. He hated it so much he could taste it on his tongue, bitter and metallic.

Too many variables. Too many holes. But like Avery said, he didn't have a better idea.

Dean hated it.

"You're going to give yourself an ulcer," Avery said without looking up from her book.

Dean tried not to glare at her. "I don't remember asking the peanut gallery for a comment."

"I don't remember caring if you asked or not." She bit back. Dean noticed that her tone no longer had that defensive and slightly wounded edge to it anymore. Avery was being playful. Something leapt in Dean's chest and he swallowed.

"It'll work, Dean. Trust me." Avery said more seriously but Dean didn't feel any better about it.

"Yeah okay," Dean muttered under his breath and Avery looked at him.

"You don't trust me?" She frowned and put her book down.

"That's not the point," Dean shook his head. "I could trust you 'till kingdom come, but that don't make this plan a good one."

Dean glanced at Avery and saw that she had a rather tight expression on her face. He looked away and scolded himself for a moment. Was it really so impossible for him to have a conversation with Avery and have it not turn it into…into…whatever the hell this was?

This messy, uncomfortable, slightly hostile cluster-fuck?

"Do you even know this guy's name?" Dean tried and Avery bit her lip.

"How 'bout the name of his bar, do you know that?"

Silence.

The leather creaked again.

"We just need to retrace his steps," Avery said calmly. "We go back to that hospital and ask the doctors what happened to him."

"How do you even know if this guy'll say yes?" Dean demanded.

"Because, the last time you expelled Gadreel he said yes without even blinking." Avery crossed her arms.

"I hope to hell you're right," Dean said. "Cuz if you're not then your entire master plan falls apart."

Neither of them spoke for a moment and Avery looked at him. "I need to call Slater."

Dean bristled. "Why? He's a douchebag."

"Dean…" Avery sighed.

"Did you forget what happened the last time you two talked?"

"No, Dean, I didn't," Avery said stiffly. "But we need him. Like you said, my masterplan doesn't work unless we can find this guy and unless he says yes. Slater can help us do that."

Dean sighed. "How are you gonna call him?"

Avery suddenly looked uncomfortable, like Dean had asked her an inappropriately personal question. "We have a telepathic link."

Dean looked at her then back at the road. "You can read each other's minds?"

"Yes…no…kinda. We can talk to each other. We can share what we want to share, consciously and unconsciously." Avery explained.

"Consciously and unconsciously?" Dean frowned. "What the hell's that supposed to mean."

"Sometimes you want—need to reach out to someone, even if you don't know you do," Avery said quietly and Dean's face fell.

"Oh." He said flatly.

"Yeah."

More silence.

"I need to tell you something, Dean," Avery said.

"Yeah?"

Avery looked at him and Dean felt a little bit of alarm at her expression. She looked frightened and conflicted. She looked like she was moments away from cutting and running again.

"I'm remembering stuff." She finally said and Dean's alarm turned into surprise and then confusion. He was expecting something worse, but then he realized, maybe this was something worse. But he wasn't going to jump to conclusions.

"This is old news right?" Dean said cautiously. "I mean, you've remembered stuff before."

"Not like this." She shook her head and started wringing her hands slowly and tightly.

Dean's brows furrowed as he watched her from the corner of his eye. "Then how?"

Avery swallowed. "It was like a vision. I used to have these when I was back home—the other dimension. We—I thought they were hallucinations, but now I know. Or I don't…I'm not sure if it was a memory or…Slater told me once that vessels, especially early on, have leakage from other places, times. He told me that we learn to control it."

"Okay." Dean pressed.

"I had one," Avery said, "when I was at the bus station. It was Slater and me. I think we were in England, but back in time. Maybe the Victorian era?"

Oh. Dean thought. So Avery and Slater had known each other… for a while. Maybe the whole time.

"What happened?" The words felt like lead in Dean's mouth.

"Nothing." Avery laughed bitterly. "It was nothing. It was stupid and useless. I didn't learn much of anything."

Dean felt a weight disappear and he glanced at Avery. "Why did you need to tell me then?"

"Ever since—when Slater left I've been…volatile, I guess." Avery looked uncomfortable again. She hated talking about these things. About admitting how weak she was, about her vulnerabilities. It felt wrong to talk to Dean about them, it felt like going against the grain, rough and prickly. But Avery needed to. Dean needed to know. Avery had realized in the motel room that the reason that she and Dean had never gotten along before was that she was too secretive. She made herself appear untrustworthy by never giving him the whole truth.

And of course Dean's red flags went up and he became hostile. It was her own damn fault that he'd behaved the way he did. But she had been scared. She was afraid he wouldn't accept the truth. That the Winchesters would hate her, or worse fear her. She knew she was a monster but she didn't want to be that to the Winchesters. She didn't want to be that to anyone.

"I haven't been in control of… a lot of things. And when I had this vision, memory, whatever, I lost time. A lot of time passed by the time I came to and I'm not really sure what happened while I had the…thing. So I wanted to give you a heads up." Avery looked at him nervously. "Just in case."

"Duly noted." Dean shifted in his seat and Avery grimaced. He was uncomfortable.

"Thanks for the heads up," Dean added quickly and Avery's eyebrows shot up. Oh. He wasn't uncomfortable with her.

The pair descended into silence again but it wasn't an uncomfortable one. It was an amazed silence. Amazing because they were doing it. They were getting along. They were civil. They were learning about each other and it wasn't…horrible.

"Call him," Dean said, a little lightheaded from how exhilarated he was.

"What?" Avery said breathlessly.

"Call Slater. We need to know where we're going."

"Okay," Avery said, still stunned, and Dean smirked. "Okay."

* * *

—Paris, France—

Slater was sitting on a bench in the Parc du Champ de Mars watching french couples walk past when he felt her, timid and meek in his mind. He felt his heart throb painfully in his chest. Even when she didn't remember she was still so…Avery.

Even when things changed, they stayed the same. Avery was still selfish and self-centered. Too concerned with herself to really care about the people that cared about her. And yet, she was still kind, and sympathetic. She was headstrong, stubborn, sweet, and when she wasn't wallowing, she was playful.

He stood up and stuffed his hands in his pockets. She needed him. Slater had sworn to himself that he wouldn't give into her again. But he couldn't help but feel like his outburst last time was a little unfair. Avery didn't remember a lot if anything. This latest stunt she pulled had been the straw that broke the camel's back. It wasn't the first time she had been selfish. It wasn't the first time she'd acted without thinking about how it would affect everyone else.

Slater had hoped that maybe after her factory reset she would be different. And she was… but she wasn't.

He hadn't been fair—that much was true—but still, she had deserved his outburst. She had deserved the radio silence. She needed it if she was going to get over her recklessness. And if she didn't then this was what Slater needed. He couldn't anchor himself to her…not again. Slater couldn't—wouldn't do it.

He felt her again. More desperate this time.

Slater sighed.

A burgeoning young artist did a double take as he watched the man he'd been sketching disappear into thin air. The artist scanned the other park goers but didn't see his model anywhere. He was just…gone.

* * *

Dean was leaning against the hood of the Impala and waiting impatiently as Avery Vulcan mind-melded with Slater. He wasn't confident that Slater was going to show up at all, but they had at least gotten Kevin out of the way.

Dean had made the call and sent Kevin off on a wild goose chase to find his mother so that he was nowhere near Sam and subsequently Gadreel. In an hour or two he'd give Kevin another call and let him know what was going down. He needed Kevin warded and ready just in case this all went to hell. At least the prophet would be safe. Sure he'd be pissed because Dean lied, but he'd be safe.

Avery walked back towards the Impala, her eyebrows pinched together and her lips set in a frown.

"So? He coming?" Dean asked.

"I think so," Avery said unconfidently.

"You think so?" Dean asked incredulously.

Avery gave Dean a look. "He heard me. I know he did. I just…I think he needs some time."

"How much time?" Dean pressed, annoyed.

"I don't think long. Maybe a day?" Avery promised and Dean scoffed.

"Great, that's just—fantastic." Dean stuffed his hands in his pockets and leaned against the Impala again. "Now what?"

* * *

"You've got to be kidding," Dean said as we drove into the parking lot. "Bowling? You want to go bowling?"

"I want to do something fun." I corrected. "I haven't done anything fun in months. All I've done is almost die, get chased by demons, get chased by you, or stay cooped up in the bunker." I turned to look at him and poked him once in the chest. "You owe me some fun. Besides, until Slater shows there's nothing we'll be able to do. You know that just as much as I do."

Dean looked like he wanted to protest before he realized I was right. He glanced back at the bowling alley skeptically. "Bowling?"

I smiled. "Bowling."

Dean sighed and shook his head. We got out of the Impala and I couldn't help the skip in my step as we got closer. I hadn't gone bowling in what seemed like forever. Whenever I had had bad days, my mom liked to take me out to do something fun so I could distract myself. The local bowling alley was a favorite haunt of ours.

"Have you ever gone bowling?" I asked Dean and he shrugged.

"Kinda."

"Kinda? How do you 'kinda' go bowling?" We pushed past the double doors and were greeted by the smell of cheap pizza, feet, and the polish used for the bowling lanes.

"I took a girl once for a date, but we didn't do much bowling." He smirked lasciviously and I grimaced.

"Eww. I did not need to know that."

Dean laughed smugly. "You asked."

I rolled my eyes and we rented our shoes and paid for two hours at a lane. I set down my bowling ball and Dean juggled his ball in his hands to get a feel for the weight.

"So you've only bowled once," I started as I typed in 'AJACK' for my username.

"You've only bowled once," I repeated and picked up my ball.

Dean shrugged. "Yeah? So?" Dean typed in his initials with one hand, 'DW' and watched as I lined up my first shot.

"That means I'm gonna smoke you, Dean Winchester."

He crossed his arms and laughed condescendingly. "I'd like to see you try."

I didn't feel the need to respond. Instead, I took a couple of steps forward and released the hot pink bowling ball I'd chosen at just the right time, with just the right spin, and with the perfect amount of power. The heavy resin ball rocketed down the lane and smashed into the pins causing them to bounce away and ricochet satisfyingly. Not one pin was left standing.

I spun on my heel and laughed at Dean's amazed expression. "Game on Winchester."

It was soon apparent that what Dean lacked in skill he made up for in sheer power. It took him the first couple games to get used to it but soon he was smashing pins down with enough precision to nip at my heels.

"Not bad, Dean." I nodded appreciatively as he snagged a spare. "I knew you'd get the hang of it eventually, I mean maybe you'll beat me in a couple of years if you keep it up." I teased.

Dean looked absolutely insulted. "Years? Try today, sweetheart. You're not as good as you think you are."

"Oh but I am," I patted his shoulder lightly, "sweetheart." I picked up my ball and hit another strike which only boosted my lead even more. Dean grumbled and went to take his next turn. And despite his confidence, he wasn't able to beat me.

"How the hell did you get so good at this?" Dean fumed as I won the fifth game in a row and sat back in one of the hard plastic seats triumphantly.

My chest tightened a little and I smiled sadly. "I used to play a lot…with my mom."

Dean's face softened. "Oh."

"I had a lot of rough times and my mom liked to distract me so…"

"Must've been nice," Dean muttered wistfully and took the seat next to me. I knew that Dean didn't get to do this kind of stuff as a kid, what with his mom dying in a fire and his dad dragging him all over the country to kill monsters.

"It really was," I told him. I regretted the depressing turn the afternoon had taken. It wasn't my intention to start wallowing again. I had wanted to have fun. Dean watched me for a moment and then decided to give me an awkward pat on the shoulder in an attempt to comfort me. Dean looked very unsure of himself and like he was struggling tremendously on how next to proceed. A wild smile suddenly sprang across my cheeks and I started laughing slowly. With each passing moment, I began to laugh harder and harder. Dean looked bewildered by my reaction.

"You look—" I could feel tears of mirth building in my eyes as my laughter built in volume. "So uncomfortable—" I couldn't string together a complete sentence I was laughing so hard. "You're so bad at…feelings."

Dean turned red and a scowl marred his lips. He stood up. "Don't know why I even bother…"

"No!" I laughed and pulled him back by his wrist. "Don't be mad. Look," I made him sit again. "You made me laugh. You made me smile. You did what you set out to do by sucking at it."

The scowl melted a little and Dean shrugged. "I did, didn't I."

I felt my smile touch my eyes and my heart fluttered for a moment. "God, Dean, sometimes…" I shook my head and laughed again, softly this time.

"What?" He asked, his brows furrowed and my smile fell. I felt for a moment like I was on the precipice of a cliff. I felt like I was inching towards the edge of something that could completely ruin me in more ways than one. I was on a dangerous road and I could feel it.

"You're really not so bad." I finally managed, "Not bad at all, really." I felt like I was seeing Dean for the first time, really seeing him. I had seen him as a character, as a hero, a loving brother. When I met him in real life, I had seen him as an adversary, as a bully. But now I saw something different, something real.

"Thank you?" Dean cocked an eyebrow. He looked like he couldn't decide whether my comment was an insult or a compliment. He remedied this by offering his own backhanded compliment. "You're not so bad yourself…sometimes."

He smirked and my stomach flopped. I quickly quashed the sensation. This was not happening. Not three days ago I was running away from this guy, this asshole who treated me like shit.

_He treated you like shit because you were a liar. You also weren't very pleasant yourself. A small voice said in my head._

The guy tortured me for Christ's sake!

_Because you made a deal with Crowley and then refused to tell him why._

_He thought you were out to get him and Sam._

Okay well, we argued constantly and I could barely stand being in the same room with him for more than a couple of minutes before he did something that grated on my nerves.

_You're not arguing now and it's been hours since he annoyed you. You're having fun._

Shut up brain.

"Are you okay? You look constipated." Dean teased with that stupid smirk on his face.

"You're constipated." I snapped back but Dean didn't get defensive like I had wanted him to. And god I wanted him to. It was one thing to be at odds with Dean, but this? This was a whole other thing that I didn't want to deal with—couldn't deal with.

"Wow, great comeback."

"I need a drink." I blurted. I needed to distract myself. Quickly. Dean looked at me surprised.

"You want to drink? Right now?" He glanced at his watch. "It's one o'clock."

I cocked an eyebrow at him. "When has that ever stopped you?"

Dean looked away thoughtfully for a moment and then shrugged in agreement. "It's five o'clock somewhere."

We stood to leave and I froze when I caught something out of the corner of my eye. She was trying to act nonchalant as she sipped her beer and waited for her turn but I wasn't fooled.

"Dean." I grabbed his wrist and stopped him in his tracks.

He glanced back at my hand and turned to face me, frowning. "What is it?"

The demon looked at me for a moment and I tried to appear calm. I smiled at Dean. "There's a demon right over there. The girl in the grey jacket." I said stiffly.

"What? How can you tell?" Dean asked and started sweeping his gaze over the other bowlers.

"Act natural!" I hissed before I started pulling him in the opposite direction. "I can see their faces…sometimes."

"Sometimes?" Dean asked, slightly resisting me as I continued to drag him along.

"I'm still learning how to do this stuff okay?" I told him hurriedly but Dean tugged back and stopped me. "What are you doing?" I demanded agitated. "We have to get out of here."

"No," Dean corrected. "We need to lure the demon out and kill it."

I gaped at him. "Are you insane? That demon could be contacting its other demon buddies right now! We'll be outnumbered and then what? You'll be dead and I'll be Abaddon's chew toy. Thanks but no thanks." I started to pull him again but Dean rolled his eyes and dragged me into an alcove.

"You know I find your lack of faith in me really insulting." He told me and blocked my escape route.

"Not 'disturbing' Darth Vader?" I mocked. "I get that you and your brother are the big guys on campus, but I'm not willing to risk my hide for this. I've had way too many close calls with these guys and I'm not about to walk right up to one." I tried to push past him but he blocked my way, again.

"If we don't kill this demon then it  _will_  report back to Abaddon and her goons. If we do kill it, then it can't do that." Dean insisted and I scowled. "Now stop pouting. This will be easy."

I crossed my arms and grumbled. "Famous last words." Dean threw his arm around my shoulders. Not—mind you—as a show of camaraderie or friendship, no, it was so he could drag me out of the bowling alley without it looking suspicious. "Don't worry about it. I've got this under control." Dean said confidently and I sighed.

* * *

"SON OF A BITCH!" Dean yelped and Avery jumped back, a pair of bloody tweezers in her hand.

"Would you stop whining!" She scolded him and Dean twisted to look at her indignantly.

"Would you stop tearing up my back?"

Avery crossed her arms. "I told you not to go after the demon. I told you! But no, obviously, I'm an idiot and I don't know what I'm talking about. That's why I have to pick broken glass out of your back because I'm in the wrong here."

Dean cocked an eyebrow at her. "It's dead isn't it?"

Avery scoffed. "Yeah, and you have a back full of glass. Congratulations."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Just get on with it, will you?" Dean turned back around. He was straddling the motel's wooden chair and leaning against its back. His bloody t-shirt was discarded on the floor next to him. Avery sighed and counted to five in her head before starting on Dean's wounds again.

They were long jagged cuts with pieces of dirty glass lodged deep in his flesh. The demon had thrown Dean clean through a window but it hadn't shattered completely like it did in the movies. Long sharp wedges had stayed attached to the window frame and cut clean through Dean's thin canvas jacket and his t-shirt before embedding themselves into his back and breaking off. It was lucky Dean was wearing so many layers because if he hadn't, Avery was sure he'd be dead, shish-kebab-ed.

Dean flinched again as Avery pulled out some more glass but he tried his best to keep still. The only thing that was really distracting him from the pain was Avery's small warm hand on his left shoulder. She had put it there so that she was steady enough to pull out the glass but when she did Dean had frozen.

It was strange, but he'd noticed, especially in the past couple days, that Avery was very… _touchy_. Dean didn't think that she was aware of it, but Avery would always do this thing where she would touch Dean for whatever reason. Instead of trying to get his attention verbally, she would first put a hand on his arm or shoulder. If she were trying to move past him, she would make her presence known by giving him a slight nudge on his waist or again on his arm.

When Dean really thought about it, Avery had been doing that almost since he'd met her but usually with Sam, Kevin, or even Cas.

What was even stranger was that he didn't really mind.

"Wow okay," Avery said from behind him and Dean flinched as she poked and prodded him.

"What, what is it?" Dean asked anxiously.

"Oh, nothing," Avery said lightly and the paused. "You might want to brace yourself, this one's kind of a doozy." The thumb of the hand she had on his shoulder started moving back and forth soothingly like she was trying to comfort him and Dean's stomach flopped. He didn't know if it was because he was nervous about the pain or because….

Avery started to pull at the glass slowly and Dean hissed and groaned. His fingers tightened over the cheap wood of the chair and it creaked dangerously.

"Sorry! Sorry!" Avery apologized before finally pulling the piece out. "There all done, see? You're fine."

Dean relaxed all his muscles and let out a gust of air.

"Okay, hard part is over. I just need to disinfect these and patch you up, okay?" Avery said and gave him another soft pat.

"All right Florence, just hurry up would ya? I'll be ninety by the time you're done." Dean complained to get his mind off the dangerous road he'd almost gone down.  _It's just been a long time, that's all._  Dean tried to convince himself.

Avery handed him a towel and he looked at her. "What's this for?"

"Wrap it around your waist." She told him and Dean frowned.

"Why?"

Avery gave him an exasperated look. "Just do it, will you?"

Dean held his hands up in concession. "All right, jeez. Someone's a little pissy." Dean wrapped the towel around his waist and Avery chose to ignore his comment. Dean jerked violently as something cold washed down his back and simultaneously burned his cuts. The towel he wrapped around his waist soaked up all of the liquid instead of his jeans.

"Clever." He hissed through the pain.

"I know," Avery smirked before taking the towel from him and patting his back dry gently.

Dean felt Avery hesitate and then stumble back a few steps. "Avery?" He turned around when he didn't get a response and then stood up quickly at what he saw.

Avery had gone rigid and wide-eyed, her pupils dilated to the point that he could barely make out the color of her irises. "Avery!"

In one swift movement, he had his hands on her shoulders and he shook her. Avery didn't respond and her eyes were still glazed over. It suddenly struck Dean what was happening and he stopped.

She remembered something.

Avery started sucking in quiet and shallow breaths. Dean cupped her cheek and tilted her head up. "Avery? Snap out of it." He growled lowly. He didn't like this one bit. Dean didn't know enough about what was happening and it terrified him.

Dean heard something ruffle behind him and he froze.

"What the hell is going on?" An angry voice said and Dean clenched his jaw.

"Slater."


	15. Black Water

* * *

Ch. 15

Black Water

_"All right. Try this, then. Everybody I know and care for, and everybody else is going to die in a loneliness I can't imagine and a pain I don't know."_  -Northern Pike, James Wright

* * *

It took Slater only two long strides to make it to Avery's side. "Avery? What's wrong with her? What did you do!" Slater demanded angrily.

Dean bristled. "Me? I didn't do shit!"

Slater kept one hand on Avery's arm, almost like he was making sure she was still there, while he turned to confront Dean. "Then why is she in some sort of fit!"

Dean shrugged on a grey zip-up hoody gingerly while still glaring daggers at Slater. "She's remembering something."

Slater blanched and glanced back at Avery who still was staring into nothing. "She—what?"

"I don't know. She told me that when she remembers stuff, she gets all  _Night of the Living Dead._ We just have to wait it out." Dean crossed his arms and watched as Slater stared at him for a moment before turning back to Avery.

"Avery," He whispered. "Darling? Look at me. Avery?" Slater dragged the back of his hand across her cheek. "C'mon."

"I already tried." Dean insisted and his hands curled into fists. Just being in the same room with Slater made his skin itch and burn. Dean knew it was irrational to be so incensed by the sight of the guy, but the asshole had made him wait while his brother was still in danger among other things…

"What took you so long?" Dean demanded quietly.

"What?" Slater asked distractedly. He was still stroking her cheek lightly and staring at her worriedly. It made Dean sick.

"What. Took. You. So. Long?" Dean repeated. "Avery called you  _hours_  ago."

"I was busy."

"Busy?"

"Yes," Slater snapped. "I was busy."

"With what?" Dean growled, quickly losing what little patience he had.

Slater dropped his hand and quickly squared off with Dean.

"I don't recall it being any of your business." Slater spat.

"Oh yeah?" Dean challenged. "I think it's rich that you can show up late and still act all concerned about Avery like you give two shits about her."

Slater snarled and stood up straighter— if that was even possible—like he was trying to seem larger than he really was. "You don't know anything about me, Winchester, so don't presume to know about my relationship with her!"

Dean frowned at that.  _Relationship?_

"Dean? T-Tom?"

Slater and Dean looked back at Avery who was now blinking and looking around the room like she was lost.

"Hey," Dean said carefully and stepped away from Slater. "You okay?"

"I—uh—remembered something." Avery stuttered as she took in the new arrival. "When did you get here?"

Slater took a deep breath. "Five minutes ago, maybe...you called?"

Avery's muscles were tense and her body exuded uncertainty. Dean ignored Slater's question and asked his own.

"What did you remember?"

Avery froze. "Nothing."

"Nothing?"

"Nothing that concerns you," Avery said sharply before deflating. "Sorry, didn't mean to snap." Avery's gaze lingered on Slater for a moment before she looked down at her feet.

What had she seen that was making her so…so—

"I need your help finding someone, Slater." She said quietly.

Slater glanced at Dean and then back at Avery. "Why should I help you?"

Avery's eyes snapped up and she looked shocked. She hadn't expected Slater to demand an explanation.

"We—we need to help Sam."

"Help  _Sam?_ " Slater repeated and Avery frowned.

"Yes."

Slater stared at Avery for a moment before pinching the bridge of his nose. "What are you up to?"

Avery's eyebrows furrowed. "Well Sam, he's got an angel stuck inside him…"

Slater looked up at her in disbelief. "You're meddling, even after I expressly told you not to."

"This isn't meddling," Avery argued.

"He told you  _what_?" Dean demanded. "What is he talking about?"

Avery looked like a deer caught in headlights.

Slater walked up to her aggressively. "Bad things happen when you change the future, Avery. The universe always self corrects. If you hadn't wiped your hard drive, then you would know this better than anyone."

"What is he talking about?" Dean asked again more forcefully and Avery looked at him apologetically. This was not going at all like she had hoped.

Slater laughed slightly without tearing his eyes away from Avery. "What my darling Avery," He said this very condescendingly, "neglected to tell you, Mr. Winchester, is that she isn't  _allowed_ to change major events. She didn't tell you that there are severe consequences for doing so. She didn't tell you the truth."

Dean frowned. Avery  _had_  told him that she wasn't allowed. She had told him that day when they had defeated the witch. Dean suddenly realized that Avery was breaking the rules for  _him_.

"Tell me," Slater spat. "What did you think I was going to say when I got here? Did you think I was going to hop onto your little 'cater to Avery' bandwagon and answer your beck and call?"

Avery gave him a wounded look. "Tom, that's not— I didn't think—"

"Oh, You don't have to tell me," Slater laughed tiredly. "I  _know_  you didn't think. You  _never_  think! And I always have to clean up your messes!"

It was in that moment that Avery decided enough was enough. She refused to be pushed around any longer. "Stop talking to me like I'm the same person you knew! If I hurt you in the past, then I'm sorry, but you can't hold things I don't remember doing against me!" She spat.

Slater reared back in surprise before punching back twice as hard. "All right I won't, but let's take a look at the things you do remember. Remember when you drugged me and went after that shaman alone? Or how about when you made a deal with the King of Hell and set him free?"

Avery went pale but Slater wasn't finished.

"Slater back off," Dean growled and put himself between the pair.

"Let's talk about your latest exploits." Slater continued. "How you ran off and ended up killing a man by the side of the road leaving his body there to rot. How if your pal Dean here hadn't found you then Abaddon would have. Let's talk about that, shall we—?"

"I said  _back off_!" Dean shoved Slater away from Avery who had started trembling slightly at his accusations.

"How did you—?" Avery had never felt so unsettled, so attacked, so  _hurt_  in her life. How had Slater known about the demon that was trailing her?

"And now," Slater said quietly. "Now you want to change a major event because it suits your fancy?"

Avery gaped at him and Slater shook his head. "You might not remember much, but your arrogance seems to have made it through."

She tried to blink back tears as her face flushed with indignance. "I-I don't understand. Why are you—? You're supposed to be…you're—"Avery's jaw clamped shut like she had thought better about what she'd been about to say.

"Save it." Slater hissed.

"No," Dean growled. "You can take your, 'you can't change destiny' bullshit and shove it up your ass. I  _have_ changed destiny before and for the better. My brother and I saved the world, we stopped the Apocalypse, so I don't buy this at all."

Slater turned his burning glare towards Dean. "You think you left the world better off,  _Dean Winchester_?" He said Dean's name like it was a filthy word.

Slater smiled spitefully. "You left a power vacuum for Crowley to occupy and a civil war in heaven. Crowley started hunting the Alphas which forced them to procreate at exponentially increased rates infesting the world with their filth. Then your angel friend released the Leviathan onto the earth and they ravaged the earth's population, but not before he was driven insane by the souls he carried and massacred thousands, both in heaven and on earth."

Slater took three steps up to Dean so they were almost nose to nose. "Tell me, Dean Winchester, did you leave this world a better place?"

The silence in the room was deafening. Dean was almost as pale as Avery. All of his worst fears were confirmed. Dean felt like a fist was closing around his heart.

"I've met the likes of you many times before, Dean Winchester," Slater shook his head slowly. "and no matter how different the circumstances, you always come out the same. Arrogant, inflated, a hero complex for the history books—"

"Stop it." Avery's voice broke with anger. "None of that was his fault and you know it! Dean Winchester is a fucking  _hero_  and I never want to hear you say otherwise again."

Dean would later look back on this moment and rank it among his 'top five for most shocked he's ever been.' Avery had been one of the last people on this earth that he expected would call him a hero. And hearing her say that felt like he was taking his first breath of air after almost drowning.

Slater's eyes narrowed. "You always did have a soft spot for them."

"I—what?" Avery's eyes widened. She and Slater had met the Winchesters before, and that blew her mind.

"Doesn't matter." Slater shook his head. "I'm leaving."

"No! You can't!" Avery grabbed Slater's wrist and he shook her off.

"Yes, I can," He said through gritted teeth. "And you can't stop me."

Avery was suddenly livid. "If you won't help me with Sam, then I'll do it myself, but you still need to show me how to save Lucy."

"Do I now?" Slater asked sarcastically.

"Wait who's Lucy?" Dean asked but no one paid attention to him.

"Yes, you do!" She snarled. "I won't have her blood on my hands. I  _will_ fix this and you'll tell me how. This is me cleaning up my messes."

Slater just looked at her.

"Isn't that what you wanted?" Avery demanded and Slater deflated slightly.

"You don't understand—"

"Then help me understand!" She threw up her hands angrily.

"YOU'RE BROKEN!" He screamed.

Avery stumbled back a little and exhaled as if the oxygen had been pulled out of her lungs.

Slater dragged his hands over his face breathing heavily. The anguish was palpable. "Y—you mutilated yourself and I don't think I'll ever be able to fix it."

"What are you talking about?" She breathed.

"Right now, I have millions upon millions of variations of myself living in different dimensions. I can switch my focus," He snapped his fingers, "like that. I can access all of it."

"That doesn't make any sense." Dean protested. "Does that mean your clones are just sitting around mindlessly?"

Slater sneered. "Your tiny human brain can't fathom the intricacies of how I exist and it never will." He looked at me. "We're part God. It's in our design. But the best way I can explain it is that the vessel is like a hive mind. Our iterations are the ants and we are controlled by one mind. They can all do different things and act independently but under the nexus."

"I still don't understand," Avery growled. "Why can't you just teach me how to access my—clones, or whatever, why am I 'broken'?"

Slater closed his eyes and took another pained breath. "The only way you could hide—" His voice broke. "You had to be in one place. All of you had to be in one place."

Avery and Dean still looked thoroughly confused and perturbed. What was Slater getting at?

"You merged."

"I—what?" Avery asked baffled.

Slater began pacing looking more and more distressed. "You anchored every single iteration of yourself to one body and hid. It broke your mind, Avery. It broke you."

Avery exhaled sharply and then laughed weakly. "But—I'm not…crazy. I know I'm not crazy."

Slater looked at her. "Your memories were eviscerated, torn apart. And, apparently, when one of them surfaces you fall into catatonia." Slater laughed humorlessly. "Y—you can't heal yourself or others properly, you can't control your powers or how they manifest."

Avery shook. "So—what? Does this mean I'll never save Lucy? Why would you tell me I could help her if—? How did you even help me remember that I—?"

Slater's face flooded with guilt. "I thought I could fix you, break down the anchor. As for your memory, I pulled it out of the recesses of your mind. But the last time I did that you started having nightmares. I didn't want to make your condition worse."

Avery thought about the nightmares that had plagued her the past month. She suddenly realized that they'd tapered off into nonexistence. Had Slater's interference really caused them?

"Hey, she was a little kid when she got here." Dean interrupted. "Now she's not. Does that have anything to do—?"

Slater bit his lip. "That's not how it should have happened, no. She would have had this body here already and the other would have stayed there. Only her focus would have shifted."

Avery paled and said quietly. "It hurt so much."

Dean tried to mask the pity in his eyes and continued. "But if she…anchored herself, or whatever, then how is she here? How did she get here?"

Slater shrugged. "Desperation maybe? Abaddon slaughtered her mother and Avery knew she was next. Somewhere deep down the nexus must have decided to do whatever it took to get somewhere safe."

"And this is safe?" Avery scoffed bitterly. "Isn't this Abaddon's home turf?"

"I don't know, Avery," Slater said frustrated. "Believe it or not but I don't have all the answers. Maybe somewhere in your subconscious, you thought that this place had something that would keep you—" Slater's eyes paused on Dean for a moment. He noticed how Dean had stood next to her protectively during the entire conversation. "—safe."

Avery noticed the look and turned faintly pink. Slater's jaw clenched.

"That's it." He said. "That's all I know. I can't help you."

"So what?" Avery asked hurt. "You're just gonna leave again?"

"Don't push me," Slater warned.

"No! You don't get to just drop a bomb on me like that and take off!" She insisted.

"I am not 'taking off'—" Slater protested.

"Yes, you are! You're abandoning—"

" _You_  abandoned  _me_!" He yelled finally. Avery fell silent again, stunned at the devastated look on Slater's face. "I— you were my best friend…and you abandoned  _me."_

Slater disappeared and Avery just stared at the spot he used to occupy.

"Well," Dean said slowly, "That was…"

"Shut up, Dean."

"Okay, shutting up now."

* * *

Dean pretended to be asleep as he listened to Avery cry quietly into her pillow that night. She had been stony and silent for the rest of the day. Dean had tried to talk to her initially but she refused to engage.

"I don't want to talk about it." Her face had turned red with shame and she tried to hide the break in her voice. Dean humored her and pretended not to notice. It was easier that way. Pretending everything was fine. He wasn't good with crying girls. The best he could offer was an awkward hug and some tired platitudes. Nothing substantial or satisfying. Nothing that would actually make her feel better.

Avery shifted around in the bed next to him before standing up and slipping out of the motel room. As soon as the door closed behind her Dean sat up and strained to hear what she was doing outside.

She hadn't taken any of her things with her and she hadn't even put on a pair of shoes, so Dean was sure she wasn't trying to bolt. Dean dragged his hands over his face. He didn't know what he was going to do. How he was going to find Gadreel's vessel, how he was going to save Sam without any collateral damage. How he was going to make sure Metatron didn't turn Gadreel to the dark side. Avery had a plan but it was risky. So many things could go wrong and Dean couldn't do anything to better the odds.

It frightened Dean how much this plan hinged on Avery pulling through. He couldn't have her wrapped up in her own drama. He couldn't have her distracted. That's how mistakes happened. That's how people died.

Dean threw off his sheets and went out to join Avery. When Dean opened the door, Avery jumped slightly before turning her back to him and wiping her face quickly. Dean shivered when a gust of wind blew through the motel door.

"Sorry, didn't mean to wake you," Avery said thickly.

Dean hesitated. "Are you… okay?"

"Fine, I'm fine." Avery insisted tightly. She crossed her arms over chest as another gust blew over them.

"You should come back inside. You'll freeze to death." Dean frowned. She was only wearing a thin cotton camisole and a pair of shorts. Her toes were curled up to her feet and her lips were turning blue.

Avery's jaw clenched like she was going to protest but her face softened when she looked at Dean and she nodded. Dean stood back and held the door open for her as she moved back into the room. He stiffened for a moment when she ducked under his arm and lightly pressed her cold fingers to his abdomen as she squeezed by.

Dean waited a moment before closing the door again and flicked on the light. Desaturated fluorescent light flooded the room and Avery blinked as her eyes adjusted to it.

"Listen," Dean started, "I need you on your A game. Okay?"

Avery bristled and opened her mouth to protest but Dean held up a hand, "Don't tell me that you are because you aren't and I don't expect you to be."

Avery crossed her arms and looked away.

Dean took a step closer to her. "Whatever you need to do…to get past this? I need you to do it, okay?"

Avery's breath caught in her throat and her cheeks flushed. She had started noticing little things about him. The scar on his chin, the crow's feet around his piercing green eyes, and the tired purple bags under them. "Um…is it too late for that drink?" She asked weakly and Dean chuckled in surprise, a rare smile making the crow's feet around his eyes more pronounced.

"No, it's never too late." Dean threw on his jacket and grabbed the keys to the Impala before leaving the motel room. Avery sank down into her bed shakily and clutched her arms to her chest.

How pathetic could she possibly get? Was she actually falling for Dean Winchester? The little flutter in her chest whenever she looked at him was pretty damning but Avery shook her head. It was probably just a physical attraction. He was handsome… _very_  handsome, and just because she'd noticed (How couldn't she?) didn't mean she…

The door opened and Avery stood up quickly. Dean closed the door behind him and held up a bottle of whiskey triumphantly. Avery gave him a small smile that felt more like a grimace and Dean offered her the bottle before pausing.

Avery frowned. "What? What is it?"

"You're like fifteen…I feel weird about giving booze to a minor."

Avery laughed shortly in disbelief and Dean grinned. He was teasing her.

"You asshole. I've been around since the beginning of time."

Dean held up his hands. "You only remember fifteen years of that. I don't know if I'm comfortable—"

"Gimme that." She scowled and unscrewed the cap before taking a large swig. Maybe too large in hindsight, because she coughed and spluttered as the burning liquid made its way down her throat and into her stomach.

"Easy there, tiger. Don't get too excited." Dean took the bottle from her and matched her drink but didn't react like she had.

"That was disgusting." She stuck out her tongue.

"You wanna stop?"

Avery's eyes widened. "God no." She took the bottle and swallowed another, more conservative, mouthful before sitting down at the edge of her bed. Dean sat down next to her.

The smell of the whiskey was pungent and it wafted up from the bottle and stung Avery's nose but she couldn't find the will to care. She took another drink and Dean accepted the bottle quietly.

"You know," Dean started, "you never seemed like the type of person who would drown their problems with a fifth of whiskey."

"Well, you don't really know me." Avery shrugged and Dean looked at her. "Fair."

Avery looked down at her fingernails. "I don't really know me either, so I won't hold it against you." She could feel the heat radiating off of Dean's body and Avery swallowed. She really needed to stop thinking about Dean's body…

Dean handed her the bottle because it seemed like the right thing to do and Avery accepted and drank. The whiskey was already starting to warm up her insides and Avery realized that she probably should have eaten something before drinking. She hadn't finished her dinner so she was drinking on an empty stomach which was almost always a mistake.

"We should probably get to know each other better." Dean mused. "Maybe we wouldn't hate each other so much."

Avery stiffened. "I don't hate you."

Dean looked at her in surprise. "You-you don't?"

She shook her head slowly. "No…do you hate me?"

Dean watched her for a moment, "No."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"…okay." Avery drank some more whiskey.

"Maybe you should stop," Dean advised and Avery scowled at him.

"I'm not even drunk yet."

"Yeah but you can't weigh more than 120 pounds soaking wet and you've already had a lot. That whiskey's gonna hit you like a bus if you don't relax." Dean took the bottle from her gently and Avery didn't fight him. They sat in silence as Avery waited for the booze to kick in and as Dean caught up to her.

"So…what did you want to know about me?" Avery asked him and Dean shrugged.

"I don't know…did you have a lot of friends back home?"

"No," Avery folded her shoulders in slightly. "I was the schizo-freak. People kept their distance."

Dean paused. "Sorry."

"Don't be. S'not your fault."

Dean waited long enough for the little bit of tension he'd caused to fade."What about that Lucy chick? Who's that?"

"A family friend, She was staying with her aunt in New Haven before she moved to John Hopkins. Lucy was going to attend Med School there. She used to pick me up from school." Avery sighed knowing that Dean was probably aching to know more. "She—well, she's in a dimension where Harry Potter is real."

"…Are you kidding?"

Avery laughed bitterly. "Yeah, I wish. Apparently, I transported her there because a friend I had in that world wanted to change what had happened."

Dean gawked at her. "You can transport people to other dimensions?"

Avery shrugged. "I used to. I don't know anymore."

"And you transported her there to change Harry Potter? That's…"

"Yeah."

"Harry Potter?"

"Believe me, I know it's ridiculous."

"Do you think Star Trek is real too? Lord of the Rings?"

"Probably….God, you're such a nerd."

Dean shoved Avery lightly but the alcohol had started to impair her motor skills and balance, so she toppled off the bed and landed on the floor with an indignant squeak.

"Dude!"

"God, you're such a klutz." Dean mocked and Avery huffed. "You pushed me!"

"You're drunk," Dean smirked and Avery rolled her eyes. She laid down and crossed her arms over her stomach before staring at the cigarette smoke stained popcorn ceiling and asking, "Does it make you feel small? Knowing that all that exists? Knowing that there are millions of universes just as big and just as crazy as ours?"

"I've never really thought about it," Dean admitted. "You?"

Avery closed her eyes like she was trying to picture it. The scope of how large everything was compared to her. "Yeah. Really small."

"But you're a vessel. You're probably just as big as all that. I mean, you're certainly a part of it." Dean argued.

"Still. It's too big. How can it be so big?"

Dean took a swig of whiskey. "I dunno. I try not to think about it. There are enough problems right here at our feet. We don't need to think about the rest of the universe."

Avery sighed and propped herself up on her elbows. "Fair." She held out a hand. "Gimme."

Dean handed her the bottle and she took a drink before lying back down and cradling it to her chest.

"Favorite color?"

"Blue."

"Black. Favorite song?"

Avery puffed out her cheeks. "Damn, that's a hard question. Um…do you know the band 'Of Monsters and Men'?"

Dean shook his head. "Nope."

"Well there's this song  _Blackwater_ , I think that'd be my favorite."

Dean chuckled. "Of Monsters and Men, it's kinda ironic isn't it?"

She smiled. "Yeah, it is. How bout you?"

"It's a tie between Ramblin' On and Traveling Riverside Blues."

Avery frowned. "Wait, I knew that."

"What? How?"

Avery sat up unsteadily and took another swig before deciding to cut herself off for the night. "The show."

Dean grimaced. "Right, the show. You know that's super strange, right? That you know all about us?"

"Yeah, sorry. I didn't know at the time. I thought all of it was fiction." Avery laid back down, set the bottle down near her cheek, and crossed her arms over her chest. "I wouldn't have watched if I knew I was gonna meet you guys."

"Hindsight's 20/20…" Dean shrugged and glanced at the whiskey. "Gimme that."

"Haven't  _you_  had enough?" She asked and Dean shook his head.

"Takes a whole lot more than that to get me drunk, sweetheart."

Avery looked at him. "Sweetheart…" She repeated quietly. "You know, I don't get why some girls hate being called that."

"Sweetheart?" Dean asked and Avery nodded.

"Yeah, who wouldn't want a sweetheart? And, who wouldn't want a guy to notice?"

Dean didn't know how to respond, so he didn't.

"Do you ever miss your mom?" She asked him and Dean felt like he'd been electrocuted. That was  _not_  what he was expecting.

"Cuz I miss mine," She continued. "I miss her all the time. Can't stop thinking about her. I see her everywhere in everything I do."

"I think about her sometimes," Dean offered. "Most of the time I don't but, every once in a while…"

Avery stood up and sat next to Dean on the bed. He could feel her overheated body radiating warmth. "She was half demon, you know?"

"What was she like?" Dean asked.

Avery looked at him again and whispered, "She was perfect. Better than I ever was…better than I'll ever be. It's crazy, my mom was the good one and she was half demon. My dad was a good for nothing dick and he was half angel. You'd think it'd be the other way round, huh?"

Dean could see Avery's jaw start to work. "You know, I can barely picture her face in my mind anymore? I just…I can't pull up the image."

"It…it gets easier with time." Dean managed before swallowing another mouthful of whiskey, screwing the cap back on, and tossing it at the duffel bag near his feet. It landed on the bag with a dull clunk and Avery crossed her arms around her chest. Her cheeks were cherry red and her eyelids were drooping. She swayed back and forth slightly like she was trying her damnedest to control her balance.

"Hey Dean," She slurred and Dean watched her carefully.

"You ever been so lonely it hurts? Like…you can't breathe and if you don't do something you'll scream?"

Dean hesitated. This wasn't something she'd ever say to him if she wasn't hammered. He was sure of it and, he probably wouldn't have said what he said next if he wasn't a little drunk also.

"Yeah…I have."


	16. For Whom the Bell Tolls

* * *

Ch. 16

For Whom the Bell Tolls

_"Theirs not to make reply, Theirs not to reason why, Theirs but to do and die:_ _Into the valley of Death"_ —Tennyson, Charge of the Light Brigade

* * *

"Hello darling, squirrel."

"Crowley," Dean growled. We had taken up temporary residence in an abandoned warehouse a couple of miles outside of town. I tried not to concentrate on my tossing insides. I had had way too much to drink the night before.

Crowley waltzed up to us and stuck his hands into the pockets of his long black overcoat. "Whatever can I do for you?"

I took a deep breath. "We need your help."

Crowley rolled his eyes. "I'd gathered as much, darling. What is it you want?"

I glanced at Dean and he gave me one short nod. I swallowed and quickly launched into an explanation of what had gone down with Sam and Gadreel, how we didn't want the angel to get on our bad side, so we needed Crowley's help to find Gadreel's old vessel and expel Gadreel from Sam.

"Well," Crowley's voice rumbled deep in his chest, "that is quite a tale isn't it?"

"So you'll help us?" I asked eagerly. Crowley snapped and a metal chair from a nearby office came skidding out, scratching against the concrete floor unpleasantly, before stopping at his feet. He sat down and crossed his legs.

"Yes," Crowley smirked, "for a price."

Dean scoffed cynically. "Why am I not surprised?"

"What do you want, Crowley?" I frowned.

"Kill Abaddon."

Dean and I looked at each other. "Don't you think we would have if we could?"

Crowley tilted his head to the side and looked at me piercingly. I shifted uneasily under his scrutiny. Did he know that I knew about the mark? About the first blade?

"I know how to kill Abaddon, but I need your help to find the weapon that'll do it."

"What is it?" Dean asked, "Because last I checked, Knights of Hell aren't the dying kind, so whatever you're looking for must really pack a punch."

Crowley smirked, "The first blade."

My jaw clenched and Dean frowned, "Never heard of it."

"I doubted you would. It's old, very old, very powerful. I've been looking for the blade for centuries and almost nabbed it when one of my droogs—Smitty—got wind of one of Abaddon's protégés who had knowledge of the blade."

"And what does that have to do with us?" Dean sighed.

"Well, before Smitty had a chance to get the protégé, daddy Winchester did." Crowley uncrossed his legs and leaned forward. "I was hoping to have a peek inside Johnny's dear diary, see if there might be a lead to the blade and then… off to see the wizard."

Dean raised an eyebrow at Crowley and I bit my lip.

"You want to hunt...with us?" Dean scoffed.

Crowley's eyes flickered over to me and I glared in response. "You want me to help with your angel problem?" Crowley asked calmly before screaming at the top of his lungs. "Then you'll help me get the blade and kill that uppity little whore!"

"All right Al Pacino, cool your jets." Dean sneered. I tugged at his sleeve and jerked my head towards the office to let him know that I wanted to speak to him privately. His gaze flickered to Crowley for a moment before he looked at me and nodded.

"If you'll excuse us for one moment,  _your highness,_ " I said disdainfully and Crowley rolled his eyes.

"Make it snappy."

We walked briskly to the cramped office and Dean shut the door behind us. Papers were strewn all over the floor and a filing cabinet had been knocked over from when its previous occupants had vacated the warehouse.

"What's up?" Dean asked me.

I bit my tongue and looked at him nervously. "Look, Dean, this is a bad idea."

He frowned. "Bad idea? This was  _your_ idea."

I closed my eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. "I know, I know, it's just— I didn't know Crowley was going to ask us to do this."

Dean's eyes narrowed. "Do you know something about this blade?"

I looked down at my palms. "In the TV show, Crowley comes to find you to get the blade."

"And I agreed to hunt with him?" He asked in disbelief.

I sat down on the overturned filing cabinet and shrugged. "Well, you were in a dark spot. Gadreel had been cast out of Sam at the point. Kevin was dead, and Sam wasn't talking to you. You wanted a win, I guess, so you decided to go after Abaddon with Crowley."

Dean took a step closer to me and crossed his arms. "Okay, but that doesn't tell me why getting this blade is a bad idea."

"The first blade belongs to the father of murder, Dean." He looked at me blankly and I rolled my eyes. "Cain, it's Cain's blade."

Dean's eyes widened. "Cain? Like 'Cain and Abel' Cain?"

I nodded. "Yeah, and the blade is useless unless you have the Mark of Cain. I haven't seen that far so I don't know what it'll do to you, but I'm sure it's nothing good."

Dean sighed. "Look, Avery, it was your idea to go to Crowley for help, and unless you know of another way to get Gadreel out of Sam, then this is what I'm going to do."

I felt anxiety broil in the pit of my stomach. "Dean, I have an awful feeling about this. The way the show is set up…It probably means this is going to have huge consequences later on. I really don't think you should—"

"My mind is made up," Dean snapped and I fell silent. Dean sighed at the chastened look on my face and then asked softly, "Are you going to help me, or not?"

My stomach did somersaults at the look he was giving me and I cursed his stupid handsome face in my head. "Of course I'll help you."

Dean's lips quirked up slightly before he nodded and we left the tiny office towards Crowley who was waiting impatiently.

"Are you ladies done gossiping?"

Dean's jaw clenched. "We'll help you but you have to deliver on the first half of our deal first. Find Gadreel's vessel; then we'll go find your blade."

"Done, who'd like to seal the deal, hmm?" Crowley looked at me. "We've done business before, would you like to do the honors? Or how 'bout you," Crowley's gaze flickered to Dean. "I don't believe we've had the pleasure…"

Dean clicked his tongue in disgust and I rolled my eyes. "I'll do it." I took a step forward but Dean's firm grasp on my shoulder stopped me in my tracks.

"Hell no, I'm not going to let you lock lips with that limey bastard."

I quirked an eyebrow. "Are you volunteering?"

Dean grimaced and loosened his grip on my shoulder. I smirked at him. "That's what I thought."

I walked up to Crowley and crossed my arms, "All right, let's get this over with." Crowley smirked at Dean over my shoulder and I turned to frown back at Dean. What was he looking at—

"Mm!" Crowley twined his fingers in my hair and wrapped his arm around my waist pulling me flush against him before smashing his lips against mine. I tried to pull away but he tightened his grip and dipped his tongue into my mouth forcefully.  _Ugh gross._

"Alright, that's enough!" Dean growled and yanked Crowley off of me. He looked absolutely murderous. I wiped my lips and grimaced. What the hell was Crowley's deal?

Crowley cocked an eyebrow at Dean. "Hit a nerve have I?"

Dean stood there, huffing like an enraged bull, but I pulled him back. "Let's get out of here." I turned to Crowley. "You'll let us know when you have Gadreel's vessel?"

He nodded and then vanished. Dean visibly relaxed and I looked at him warily. "It's okay Dean, Crowley was just trying to be a dick."

Dean's lips thinned and his jaw twitched.

"Are you okay?" I couldn't fathom why he looked so pissed. Crowley had been a prick but nothing out of the ordinary. In fact, this was pretty tame for the demon.

He looked down at me and his glare softened fractionally. "I'm fine; let's get out of here."

* * *

I was lounging across my bed in the motel reading my book and Dean was flicking through the channels of the TV while we waited for news from Crowley.

"Previously on  _Dr. Sexy M.D…"_

I glanced up and smiled when Dean tossed the remote to the side and reclined back into his bed, content with his choice. Dean seemed to feel my eyes on him and he looked at me.

"What's so funny?"

I opened my mouth to reply but the room was suddenly filled with muffled grunts and protests from the man that had just appeared in our hotel room. His hands were bound behind his back and there was a gag in his mouth. Standing next to him, looking quite bored, was Crowley.

"What the hell?" Dean jumped up out of bed and I did the same.

"Crowley! Why the hell is he tied up?" I demanded angrily and made my way over to Gadreel's thrashing vessel.

"He was being difficult." Crowley drawled.

"Hey, it's okay we're not going to hurt you." I tried to reassure him but he kept tugging at his bindings frantically and tried to move away. I pulled the gag out of his mouth and he started to scream.

"Help! Help me!"

_Shit._

"Hey, please don't scream. I'm gonna untie you, okay? I'll explain everything. I just need you to calm down." I said and he eyed me warily still panting from the exertion. I slowly undid the ropes around his wrists and then stepped back carefully with my hands in the air.

"See? Nothing to worry about—" I reeled back in pain when he punched me right in the nose. Blood poured out of my nostrils and tears pooled in my eyes. "Son of a—"

Dean tackled the guy to the ground as he tried to escape the room and Crowley rolled his eyes at me while I tried to stem the bleeding. I could already feel my nose starting to swell, the ache radiating inwards and pressing against my skull. I could already tell that I would have a raging headache and bruises under my eyes as a result.

"What the fuck, dude!" I hissed.

Dean pinned the guy's arms behind his back and sat on him so he couldn't escape. "You okay?"

"She'll live." Crowley waved his hand at me dismissively. I tried to sneer at him but the movement made my nose throb, so I stopped. "What matters is I delivered on my end of the deal. Now, it's your turn."

"Get off of me!" Gadreel's vessel struggled and cursed underneath Dean's weight. Dean cuffed him up the backside of his head. "Shut up you douchebag. You just punched a girl in the face."

"It's okay, Dean." I tilted my head up and pinched my nostrils closed, wincing at the pain it caused. "Hey, asshat, what's your name?"

The guy stopped squirming underneath Dean. "I'm not telling you." He spat.

Crowley rolled his eyes again. "His name is Anthony Danton, now can we please go and find my blade."

I scowled at Crowley without thinking, another wave of pain shooting across my face. I cursed before addressing him, "Would it kill you to wait a little longer? I need to sort this out first." I made my way over to Anthony before kneeling next to him.

"The reason we brought you here is because we need you to let an angel possess you."

He immediately relaxed and sighed, "You mean Gadreel."

My eyes widened in surprise and when I looked up at Dean, he looked just as surprised as I felt. "He told you his real name?"

Anthony frowned. "Of course he did…why wouldn't he? He's an angel."

I paused for a moment. "So you'll do it?" I asked uneasily.

"Yes, it's my duty to God to help his messengers complete their tasks on earth…can you let me up now?"

I glanced at Dean and shrugged slightly. He frowned but loosened his grip and stood up slowly. Anthony got up as well and rubbed his wrists.

"I'm sorry I punched you. Gadreel warned me that demons might come after me so when  _he_  picked me up, I thought I was done for." Anthony looked over at Crowley who cocked an eyebrow. "Are you an angel too then?"

Crowley snorted and I glared at him. "Yeah, you could say that."

Crowley crossed his arms. "Now, darling, remember our little errand? It's about time we start leaving."

I closed my eyes for a moment and wiped the blood from my face gingerly before turning to address Anthony. "Okay, Anthony, I need you to stay here until it's time for Gadreel to take you as his vessel. Crowley is going to send over some guards to make sure the demons can't get to you."

"Excuse me?" Crowley said from behind me and I continued to speak over him.

"We need to do something really quick before that happens, okay?"

Anthony's jaw clenched but he nodded. I turned to Crowley and cocked an eyebrow. He popped out of the room and then popped back with two demons flanking his sides. They were both wearing sharp black suits with red ties.

"Happy?" Crowley drawled.

I closed my eyes and sighed. "Overjoyed. Now we can leave."

* * *

The door to daddy Winchester's storage unit was rusted and squeaked loudly in the otherwise deafening silence when Dean opened it. I held the makeshift ice pack Dean had made me out of a motel towel and ice to my nose. I hadn't asked him to do it. Before we got into the car, he had handed it to me wordlessly, so I swallowed my surprise and accepted it graciously.

"Charming," Crowley said after a cursory glance over the room. There were shelves upon shelves of lock boxes and weapons stacked all around the walls as well as bottles of unknown powders and other substances.

I followed Dean cautiously to a grated metal door that led deeper into the room. He unlocked it and stepped over the devil's trap that was painted on the floor in front of the door. Crowley looked down at it unamused. "Really?"

I shrugged and followed Dean. The second I stepped foot in the devil's trap a wave of nausea hit me and I stumbled, dropping the ice pack. The bloodied towel hit the ground and burst open, ice skittering out in all directions.

Shit. I was going to regret losing that later.

"Whoa, hey there," Dean caught me before I could hit the ground. "You okay? What's going on?"

"I think I'm gonna be sick," I mumbled shakily and tried to swallow the bile that was making its way up my throat. Dean glanced around hastily before his eyes landed on a metal chair in the back corner and he pulled me towards it. The second I'd stepped back out of the trap I felt my strength return and the nausea disappear. The throbbing ache from my nose remained, however.

"Whoa," I blinked and Dean frowned at me and then back at the devil's trap before he realized what I had.

"Didn't know that was a thing." He let go of my arms. I glared at the trap and then at what used to be my icepack.

"Yeah, me neither, guess I'll just wait out here then." I looked at Crowley and he smirked.

Dean walked back through the door and rifled for a moment while Crowley and I stood next to each other awkwardly.

"So," He started, his voice rumbling deep in his chest, "What else have you crazy kids been up to? It's been a while since the Winchesters have bothered me."

I shrugged, "Nothing, really."

Crowley cocked an eyebrow at me. "So you didn't kill one of Abaddon's droogs off of I-70?"

My cheeks burned with shame. "Does everyone know about that?"

Crowley shrugged. "Demons talk. And, I'm almost positive Dean didn't give you those." Crowley glanced at my neck and I covered the bruises with my hand that the demon had left there. Crowley leaned in and whispered. "Dean doesn't seem like the kinky type."

I rolled my eyes.

"But I'm proud, didn't know you had it in you." Crowley shrugged.

"Yeah," I muttered and kicked at one of the ice cubes on the ground. It slid under one of the tables with a faint clinking sound, "You don't know a lot of things about me."

"Here we go," Dean called out and Crowley and I made our way over to the grate that separated the two rooms from each other. "Looks like my dad was working with another hunter when he nabbed Abaddon's pet."

Dean held up a picture of a woman with short blonde hair. She had an angry but beautiful kind of face, one that said that she wouldn't be fucked with.

"So this is T." I nodded. I could remember that she existed, and she was the next step to finding Cain, but that's where my memory sputtered out. I had no name, no address, nada. What's the point of knowing all this stuff if it was as useful as dirt?

"Tara," Dean elaborated and slid the picture into his pocket. "Never met her, but according to this," He held up the file he'd found the picture in without looking away. His eyebrows were furrowed as he read the report his father had left behind of the encounter, "They interrogated the demon and then exorcized him…aha bingo."

He tapped the file and looked up, "Before they gave him the one-way ticket downtown, he mentioned the first blade."

"Yeah yeah yeah, skip to the good part." I waved my hand. "Where is she?"

Dean shrugged, "No clue, rest of the file's empty."

My face fell. "Empty? That's impossible. I could've sworn there was an address there."

"Well, there isn't." Dean put the file away and Crowley narrowed his eyes at me.

"You could have sworn, huh? And how's that work, seeing as I've only just come to you with this case?" He asked me.

_Oh shit._ I'd completely forgotten that Crowley didn't know that I knew the future. All he knew was that I had access to other dimensions…in theory.

Dean tossed the folder on the table, "Alternate dimension, dickhead. She saw it and guessed that it might be the same here too."

Crowley just stared at me, no sign that he'd been convinced had crossed his face.

I cleared my throat, "Well, how we going to find Tara then?"

Dean smirked at me, "There are other ways of finding people. Even without an address, sweetheart."

* * *

A couple of hours later we walked up to Tara's shop. I was grumpy and my face was sore but I still managed to smirk up at Dean and the small pleased smile on his face.

"Gotta admit, Dean, I'm impressed."

Dean went to shrug nonchalantly like it was no big deal before I finished flatly, "First me, now Tara? Your ability to stalk people really outmatches every psycho out there."

Dean scowled at me while I continued to smirk at him. Crowley clucked his tongue in disgust, "Get a room."

I immediately felt my cheeks burn and Dean's scowl deepened. Crowley pushed his way into the shop and Dean growled under his breath, "Dick."

We followed him in and the blonde woman behind the counter stiffened. She had sharp blue eyes, muscular arms, and although she had aged considerably, she still had that same angry but beautiful face from the photo John had kept of her.

She cocked her head and watched the two men that flanked me for a moment before her eyes landed on the bruises on my neck and the ones blossoming under my eyes from my damaged nose.

"You all right, hun?" She asked dangerously.

"Tara?" I asked.

"Who's asking?" She asked warily. Crowley took a step closer and Tara winced, holding her knee as if it had caused her pain.

"I'm John Winchester's son, Dean." Dean pointed at himself and then towards us. "These are associates of mine and we were hoping you could help us with a case we're working on."

Tara narrowed her eyes at him. "Well, didn't you grow up pretty," she whipped out a shotgun and we all put our hands up, "and stupid. You think you can bring a demon in here without me knowing about it?"

Dean sighed and Tara glared at Crowley. "Ever since 92' I get a painful little tickle in what's left of my knee when there's a demon around. Wanna tell me why John Winchester's son is slumming it with a demon? And explain to me why your girlfriend looks like a domestic abuse phone call waiting to happen."

"Oh this isn't…I'm not—" I walked forward and staggered sickly, the room spinning under my feet. Crowley immediately took a step backwards from where I was standing and Dean caught me before I could fall in a crumpled heap.

"Trap," I whispered to Dean weakly. His eyes widened with understanding and he tried to pull me away from the counter.

Tara cocked the shotgun. "Don't touch her or I shoot."

I felt Dean's fist tighten around my bicep quickly before he lowered me down and stepped away. My limbs seemed to get heavier and heavier with each passing moment in the trap.

"What the hell is wrong with her?" Tara demanded.

"It's complicated. Stepping into devil's traps hurts her." Dean growled, "But she's a friend, a good one. I need her help, and she can't help me if she's rotting in that trap."

The edges of my vision started to blur and darken as I tried to prop myself up on all fours.

"Good friend, huh? What do you want?" Tara repeated.

Dean gritted his teeth. "You and my old man captured a demon who knew about the first blade. We need that blade to kill the last knight of hell."

Tara's eyes widened. "All of the knights are dead."

"Yeah, well one isn't."

"P-Please…" My limbs gave out from under me and I fell the rest of the way to the floor. I shivered and could almost feel the lines of the devil's trap burning cold underneath me.

"No, she can wait there until you explain everything." Tara bit out.

Sweat started to bead on my forehead and breathing got more and more difficult. I couldn't understand what anyone was saying anymore. It was like they were speaking from underwater, muted and thick. The throbbing pain behind my eyes intensified and my stomach heaved and rolled. It felt like I was lying on the deck of a boat during a tropical storm. I closed my eyes to try and alleviate the nausea.

Dean's voice took a sharp, angry tone and I could hear Crowley's cool low grumble interject. I managed to open my eyes in time to see Tara close hers and sigh. She kicked a corner of the Persian rug I was lying on up and revealed the red devil's trap. With one foot she scratched away the paint and as soon as the line was broken, I felt cool, clean air rush into my lungs, as if I had been holding my breath. My vision cleared and strength returned to my limbs all at once.

Dean was at my side in moments and pulled me up on my feet in one smooth motion. Despite being freed from the effects of the trap my legs were still weaker than usual, so Dean had to hold me up so I didn't collapse again. My fists were curled around the fabric of his shirt across his chest and his hands were wrapped around my arms just beneath my elbows.

I looked up at him and his eyes were stern. "You okay?"

He smelled like gun powder, cheap motel soap, whiskey, and leather. His entire body radiated heat through the layers of clothing he was wearing, and the muscles underneath were taught and firm. I swallowed and tried not to blush. "Yeah, I'm fine." It came out more defensive and angry then I'd meant it, but Dean seemed to understand.

"You really are just like John," Tara shook her head. With one hand she pulled out a strange silver flask and pulled out the stopper with her teeth before dumping it over us. I realized a second before it hit me that the liquid inside was holy water, and I braced myself for the acidic burning pain it would bring. I buried my face in Dean's chest in case my eyes flickered and betrayed my demonic attributes. When the water hit me I jumped but didn't cry out. It didn't hurt nearly as much as it had when Dean tortured me. It itched and left my skin a little sore, like a bad mosquito bite, but nothing like it had been before. Dean's hold on me tightened infinitesimally as if he was also expecting a more violent reaction. When nothing happened his grip loosened and I pulled myself away with some difficulty. I managed to keep myself upright by leaning heavily on the far end of the counter away from Tara.

"See?" Dean said tightly, "Not a demon." He wiped the water from his face. "Now can you help us or not?"

Tara looked at us with pursed lips before stowing her shotgun and pulling out a folder she kept in a safe behind the counter. Dean and Crowley hunched over the papers that Tara had laid out, but I stayed in my corner where I knew I could hold myself up and away from Tara. I didn't want to make her antsier than she needed to be.

"The demon said the archangels used a weapon that could kill the knights of hell. Your dad and I'd never heard of anything like the knights or the first blade, so your dad killed it. Thought the demon was lying to try and save itself." Tara looked up at Dean. "I thought different. After a lovely weekend with John—"

Dean's eyebrows shot up in surprise and Crowley got a lewd look on his face.

"We went our separate ways and I kept looking for the damn thing. I thought, 'Hell, hunters could use a weapon like that.' I looked everywhere, ruined my knee, my life," She turned back to the safe behind the counter and pulled out a rack of bottles and a map. "The closest I ever got to the blade was a locater spell. One I could never finish."

She set down the rack with a heavy clunk. "Couldn't find one ingredient— essence of Kraken."

"Kraken?" Crowley perked up. "I've got a whole warehouse full of Kraken essence in Belize. Back in a snap." He clicked his fingers and disappeared.

Tara scoffed and looked at Dean. "If John ever heard about the kind of company you keep, he'd be rolling in his grave."

Dean's jaw clenched.

"Even if that blade's real, it ain't worth dealing with demons." She crossed her arms.

"I promise," I started bitterly from my corner, "Abaddon's way worse." Tara seemed to understand the haunted and hateful look in my eyes and nodded.

"He's a pain in the ass," Dean said. "but he's helpful. After we get what we need, I'll deal with him. Trust me."

Tara got a wistful far away kind of smile, a little sad, a little bitter, "You sound just like your dad…when he said he'd call me." Her eyes flickered over to me and I frowned. Dean followed Tara's gaze and a muscle in his jaw jumped. I felt like something monumental had just been communicated by the two hunter's, but the first explanation the jumped to mind didn't make sense, so I let it go.

* * *

We arrived at a farmhouse in Missouri a couple of hours later and Crowley was almost vibrating with excitement until we got out of the Impala and his foot touched the loose soil of the farmhouse property.

"Wait," He looked around nervously, "Something's wrong. I feel something…dark."

"Cain," I whispered. Even I could feel his presence. It felt red and metallic, burning anger and hate that bubbled beneath the surface waiting to overflow into pure murderous rage.

"What?" Crowley growled. "Cain! He's here? And you knew!"

"Yup, that blade is at the bottom of the ocean. We came here for something else." I nodded and started to make my way towards the house. Dean followed right behind me and Crowley continued to curse and protest.

"No, we have to leave now! I can get the blade without having to speak to Cain."

I looked at him over my shoulder. "The blade's power comes from Cain, smart ass. And good luck finding the blade on your own. The ocean is a pretty big place."

Crowley cursed again and had to jog to catch up to us. Bees floated around us lazily as we got closer and just around the corner of the house I could see the white stacks of several bee hives. Cain, on the other hand, was nowhere to be seen.

When we made it to the door, we found that it was unlocked. Dean shrugged at me silently and pushed through, his eyes darting around and taking in every detail of the small home. It was…quaint. Much quainter than I remembered from the show, and more whimsical than I expected for the father of murder. Rustically furnished with a lot of honey-colored wood, it had faded green wallpaper with pictures of roses decorating the walls and puffy yellow couches in the living area. There were small windows made of stained glass framing the fireplace.

Dean made his way over to the mantle and picked up the round black and white portrait of a woman. I looked at her over Dean's shoulder. She had thick dark hair that was pulled back in an elegant bun and her lips were pulled up crookedly in a coquettish smirk. I didn't need the name scrawled across her chest to know it was Colette, Cain's wife. I shivered a little and felt a heavy pit in my stomach. Had I met her before? When she was alive, had I known her? Everything about her face and the way she held herself felt so familiar.

There was a clatter in the kitchen and we all looked at each other. I suddenly felt apprehensive and began to doubt whether coming to confront Cain had been a good idea. Every single muscle in my body screamed to get the hell out of the house, but I ignored it.

Dean squared his shoulders and we waited for Cain to round the corner.

The effect was immediate. When his eyes landed on me, they flashed with surprise that almost instantly turned into rage. I froze like a deer caught in headlights.

"You."

Dean looked at me confused when suddenly Cain barreled towards us like a freight train. Dean stepped in front of me. "Hey—"

Cain swept him to the side with one hand and Dean went flying into a bookshelf that lined the wall. Dean fell to the ground; the wind knocked out of him. Crowley stayed off to the side with his hands up as if to let Cain know that he wouldn't get in the way. Cain wrapped his hand around my throat and pushed me up against the wall.

"What the fu—" I choked out and squirmed from under the weight of his fingers.

Dean rolled onto his knees wheezing and struggled to stand.

"I swore to kill you if I ever saw your face again," Cain growled. I started to cry out when I felt his searing rage flow through me like electricity, burning me from the inside out.

Dean finally managed to stand. He pulled out his gun and held it up to Cain's temple, Crowley stood to the right as pale as a sheet. "You put her down right now or I'll blow your brains out," Dean growled and Cain glared at him, his eyes burning red with hate.

"Give it your best shot, boy, there's only one thing on this planet that can kill me." His fist closed tighter against my throat and I wheezed as the pain pushed the rest of the air out of my lungs.

Dean pulled the trigger and Cain's head whipped to the side with the force of the shot.

Grey matter and bits of bone fragments sprayed the wall opposite Cain, and the grip on my throat loosened enough to let me drag in a lungful of air. Cain straightened out his neck and I watched as the gaping hole that cut through his head started to fill and heal.

Dean watched in shock and disgust at the process that took seconds at best. Cain glared at Dean and with one hand threw him against the wall across the room and pinned him there telekinetically. Crowley, in turn, fell to his knees and then was pushed down onto his stomach like the gravity around him had suddenly started to grow stronger and stronger. Cain's fury shifted back to me and his grip tightened again.

"Let her go, you bastard!" Dean roared and fought whatever hold Cain had put him in.

"You took everything from me—" The pain doubled and then tripled. It was nothing like I'd ever felt before. I could feel my blood pounding through me like an iron mallet. It started to trickle out of my nose and ears and I could feel it filling my lungs, lungs that were already starved for air.

"You took her—" Cain was so enraged that he couldn't finish the sentence.

"P-Please—" I cried.

Cain roared, threw me to the floor, and disappeared into the kitchen. I landed heavily and cracked my head against the coffee table. Blood poured down my face and stung my eyes. I coughed and gasped before trying to crawl away shakily. My head swam, everything in the room was doubled and I shook my head to try and clear my vision.

Cain returned with a long carving knife in his right hand. I backed away from him hurriedly but there was no way for me to escape. Cain yanked me up by my hair and I cried out in pain. He held the knife to my throat, but before he could slit it I yelled, "Colette wouldn't want this!"

Cain went rigid and froze.

I panted. "S-she wanted you to stop killing. Don't break your promise."

"How dare you," He seethed and pressed the knife deeper. "How dare you use her memory…"

"I don't remember what I did!" I added terrified. "Something…happened, my memories they're—I'm sorry but I can't remember."

The knife dug into my skin and I could feel a trickle of blood roll down my neck.

I looked up at Cain whose eyes were shut tightly and whose entire body was trembling with despair and anger. His eyes opened and they glowed red.

"You're the reason Colette's dead."


	17. The Mark

“No,” I said immediately.

 

Cain growled and shook his fist. I yelped at the pain that burst from my scalp as he tore some of my hair out by its roots. 

 

I quickly amended, “Abbadon! She was the one who killed her!” My mind was racing. What had my alter egos gotten me into? What twisted version of myself did what Cain was accusing me of? For some reason, I didn’t doubt for a second that some version of me did what he said. The only questions were how and why.

 

“You were the one who put her up to it.” Cain slid the knife another inch, but instead of cutting across my throat, he pulled the blade down towards my collar bone. 

 

“What are you talking about!” I yelled in a mixture of pain, frustration, and fear. The cut Cain had made itched and burned, stinging as sweat accumulated on my skin from the pain. 

 

Cain snarled and let the knife clatter to the floor. The sound made me jump and he tugged my head back before placing his palm roughly on my forehead. Pain shot through my skull like he was pushing an ice pick between my eyes.

 

Suddenly the pain stopped. I felt thick and cottony like I was buried under a pile of heavy wool.

 

There was no sound, no light, no nothing. Until…

 

Colors and sound flooded me all at once. I was by the side of a busy cobblestone road. Carriages and horses clicked and thudded against the stone and rose over the din of voices. The smell of wet dirt filled my nose. The door to a tavern opened and the smell of beer and an earthy stew wafted into the air. 

 

I light warm hand settled on my forearm and I turned. A young women, no, _Collette_ had woven her arm through mine and rested against me. We were like two intimate friends out for a stroll in the town. It occurred to me in that moment that it wasn’t _like_ that, it _was_ that. Collette was a friend and by the look on her face, she was a dear friend. 

 

And yet, I didn’t feel that. I looked at her and felt empty, indifferent. 

 

My feet moved forward of their own accord and Colette matched my pace. There was a coach stopped by the side of the road and the horses were dipping their long mouths into the feed sacks tied around their necks. A young man was brushing down the sides of one of the horses and a young lady was waiting in the carriage with a bored expression on her face.

 

My eyes turned toward the horses and I felt a film slide over my sclera almost as if I had closed my eyes. The horses neighed and whinnied in fear, bucking and stomping at the ground before taking off in a sprint towards us. Collette froze in horror as the horses barreled closer and closer. The left corner of my lips quirked slightly upwards and the horses became frantic with panic. The young woman in the carriage had leapt off the vehicle gracefully before the horses had taken off and was watching in mild interest. The man, on the other hand, sprinted towards us waving his hands and calling at us to move out of the way. 

 

We didn’t budge an inch.

 

Finally, the man stopped in the center of the road, his eyes turned black, and the horses' knees buckled underneath them. They crashed into the ground, mud spraying up into the air and sticking to their hides. 

 

Collette and I remained untouched. The young man, who I now recognized as a young Cain, made his way over to us. 

 

“Are you alright?” He asked us and I smiled at him. 

 

“We are now.”

 

In the background, I watched the woman who had been in the carriage narrow her eyes at us.

 

The scene melted away like chalk drawings in the rain. A ringing sounded in my ears like thousands of brass bells swinging back and forth in my skull. Vibrating in a syncopated chaos that made the pain of the volume that much worse. I tried to cover my ears but couldn’t because they didn’t exist. Nothing existed except the noise and the pain. Slowly the sound became more defined. I started to pick out voices.

 

_Why shouldn’t he be mine! He is my king._

 

I could pick out my voice among the others, “He’s going to abandon you, Abaddon.”

 

_Not if he doesn’t have anything to abandon me for._

 

All at once, I existed again. I opened my eyes and blinked away the red stickiness that was cloaking them. Cain’s fist was no longer tangled in my hair. I was lying on my back shaking and sweating from the ordeal I’d just endured. My fingers flew to my cheeks and I realized that I’d been weeping blood, blood that also trickled down my ears and coated the inside of my mouth with its metallic warmth.

 

“What—“ My voice came out hoarse and raspy. “What was that? What did you do?”

 

Cain towered over me, “I made you see, I made you remember.” 

 

“I wanted the Knights dead,” I whispered, “But you wouldn’t kill them unless someone gave you a reason to. I threw Collette in your path,”

 

Dean stopped struggling in disbelief.

 

“But I’m not the same person!” I promised, my voice wavered as another wave of pain washed over me. After the lobotomy, every single injury seemed to sing with renewed vigor. My nose throbbed as if I’d just been punched. My throat ached like the fingers that had tried to choke the life from me were still there, pressing. My brain pounded in my skull, pushing against the dura and the bone. A slick sheen of sweat covered my body and chilled me despite the heat that seemed to burn on the surface of my skin. The white delicate china on Cain’s shelves shuddered along with me for a moment and their tinkling chimes filled the room.

 

“I can make it up to you,” I continued. Cain looked at me but didn’t seem appeased. “We came here for the Mark and for the Blade. We want to kill Abaddon.” 

 

“Do not,” Cain growled, “treat me like a fool. You want to kill Abaddon because she’s after you. Isn’t she? You’re not killing her for me, for Colette. You’re killing her for yourself.” 

 

“I’m killing her for everyone.” I insisted with a little more strength. “Dead is dead…” I shook my head in wonder, “Why do you care why?” 

 

Cain didn’t answer, all he did was snap and release Dean and Crowley. When Dean’s boots hit the floor he grunted from the impact. Crowley stood up shakily and followed Dean who made his way over to me and helped me to my feet. I wiped the blood from under my eyes and tried to ignore the stinging pain. 

 

I saw Dean grit his teeth and move to confront Cain, but I wrapped my fingers around the sleeve of his jacket and pulled back sharply. 

 

“Don’t; I needed to know.” 

 

Cain’s nostrils flared and he turned his back to us. “Get out of my house.” 

 

“No,” Dean growled. 

 

“Dean,” I warned quietly. “Let’s just—”

 

“We’re not leaving here without what we came for.” 

 

Cain turned to face Dean who only faltered for a moment before squaring his shoulders.

 

Cain almost smirked…almost. “I see the part about you being brave rings true, Dean Winchester.”

 

“Dean,” I repeated and he shot me a withering look, but I didn’t back down. “It’s better this way; let’s just go.”

 

“No, I need that blade!” Dean shouted and I watched stunned at the expression on his face. It was angry and desperate.

 

Cain looked at him with a curiosity I hadn’t seen before. The anger fell from Dean’s face and he looked at me before stalking over to one of the windows. He yanked the curtains open and stiffened.

 

“You expecting visitors?” He looked over his shoulder and asked Cain.

 

“No,” Cain replied flatly. 

 

Crowley joined Dean and cursed, “Demons, Abaddon’s by the looks of them.” 

 

“You lead them straight to me,” Cain shook his head.

 

“Can you keep them out?” Dean addressed Cain.

 

“For a time,” He answered and began to walk away. Dean glanced at us. We weren’t going to get any help from Cain. 

 

“Barricade the doors.” Dean commanded and I nodded, the adrenaline of the coming fight distracting me from the pain. Dean ordered Crowley to the other door and I helped him push the bookshelf he’d crashed into in front of the door. Cain sat down at his kitchen table. 

 

I pulled out the angel blade I’d stolen from Sam out of my pocket, I juggled its weight in my palm and tried to get a feel for its balance. Dean pulled out the demon knife. We could hear the demons pounding and snarling just outside the door. The walls of the house shook with their attacks. 

 

Cain pulled one of the brown bags on the table towards him and pulled out its contents, corn. He pulled the green husks off the corn in fluid motions. The sound of silky tears filled the room.

 

“You’re just gonna sit there and shuck corn?” Dean growled at Cain.

 

“Don’t waste your breath, Dean. He’s not gonna help,” I sighed.

 

Cain cocked his head and glanced at me before giving me a small bitter smile. He snapped his fingers and several demons broke through before the door slammed shut again and locked them in the house with us. 

 

Two lunged at Dean and one swung out and caught my jaw with its fist. My vision blurred for a moment from the shock of pain, but I still managed to duck the next punch. I dove under the demon’s armpit and it spun around to follow after me. I plunged the angel blade into its side as it turned. The demon’s momentum pushed the blade in all the way to its hilt and it shrieked as it burned into non-existence. 

 

I turned around wildly trying to orient myself before I finally found Dean. He had plunged the demon blade into one of the demons, but hadn’t been able to pull it out. He was dodging another female demon’s knife and throwing quick punches at her whenever there was a hole in her defense. 

 

I gritted my teeth and pulled out the demon blade from the man’s body with a sickening squelch; I could feel the serrated edges catch on bone and flesh, before tossing it to Dean.

 

“Dean!” 

 

He glanced at me in time to see the blade fly towards him. Dean caught it with one hand and in a single fluid motion plunged it into the demon’s heart. 

 

Dean pulled out the blade with a grunt and turned to look at me. I grinned at him. We were a good team when we weren’t at each other's throats. 

 

His eyes widened. “Avery!”

 

I felt an earth-shattering pain explode in my skull. White stars burst across my vision. The room around me rushed away and I felt confused for a moment before I noticed, I was falling. The realization hit me only moments before I hit the ground, and I felt me teeth chatter at the force. Hot pain burst in my mouth and the warm metallic taste of blood coated my tastebuds. I had bit my tongue. I choked on the viscous liquid that pooled there and I turned to spit it out. Was it normal for so much blood to come from my damaged tongue? I could faintly make out the sound clang of metal on hardwood and I looked to my side. They hit me with a…frying pan?

 

“Get her!” Rang in my ears sharply and pain shot through my skull at the pitch. Get her? Get me? Why would they want me?

 

A pair of hands gripped my biceps and pulled me up, dragging me away from the fight. I blinked slowly and watched Dean fight off another female demon who had managed to steal the demon blade off Dean. She thrust it up into his shoulder and he cried out, cursing. I moved my rapidly swelling tongue in my mouth gingerly, enthralled with how clumsy it felt.

 

My feet scraped against the wood as they continued to pull me away. I knew that I should have been doing something, fighting them off, but my limbs felt heavy like they were full of lead. I blinked again and shook my head. Waves of pain radiated outwards from where I’d been hit and I stopped moving. _Get her_. I remembered in that moment who these demons were allied to.

 

The panic sobered me enough to start fighting.

 

“Avery!” Dean called out again. He wrapped his fingers around the hilt of the blade and pulled. Dean cried out in pain before yanking the blade completely out of his shoulder and dispatched the demon that had attacked him with an angry grunt. Somewhere in the back of my mind I noticed thoughtfully how stiffly Dean held his shoulder. It didn’t look like he could move it anymore. 

 

I looked down at the fist around my bicep and I bit down on his hand, hard. Blood that didn’t belong to me filled my mouth. It tasted bitter and…smoky? The demon that had been dragging me yanked his hand back with a pained hissed. He backhanded me across the face and dropped me. I felt a crack and my nose and mouth throbbed with new pain. More blood poured out of my nose and clogged it making it difficult to breathe. With noisy opened mouth breaths I scrambled to my feet. But no matter how much I tried I felt like I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t breathe. My blade, where had I dropped my angel blade? My eyes darted around the room as the two remaining demons started to close in on me. 

 

“Get down!” Dean yelled and I ducked. The demon blade sliced through the air and impaled the demon to my left. It perished with an agonized shriek. 

 

My eyes landed on a glint of silver just underneath the counter and I dove towards it. Mild pain shot up my knees when I hit the floor, but I ignored it and pulled the blade into my hand triumphantly. I scrambled to my feet but got knocked back down when Dean’s body collided into mine and sent us flying into the cabinets. The wood splintered behind me and the force of the collision knocked the wind out of my lungs. I choked and sputtered out more blood that trickled down my throat. 

 

Dean rolled off me and air rushed into my lungs. He pulled the blade out of my unresponsive hand roughly and stood. I watched as he and the demon danced around each other before one last well placed hit gave Dean the opening he needed to kill the last demon. It fell to the ground with a dull thud.

 

For the first time since the fight started, the room almost seemed silent. Everything was very still.

 

I rolled onto my knees and shook at the effort it took. Dean’s head fell back and he let out a strained breath before dropping the blade and cradling his left shoulder.

 

Bits of wood, broken glass, and ceramic cut into my flesh as I pushed myself up onto my feet. I gingerly wiped at my nose and blood stained my sleeve. Crowley waltzed back into the room virtually untouched and I scowled at him but winced at the pain it drew from my newly damaged nose. Dean straightened and glared Cain down, he hadn’t moved a muscle during the entire fight. He had just sat there and watched quietly. 

 

We could still hear the rabid growls of the demons outside. We could hear them circling the house and pounding against the wooden slates of the door. Cain didn’t allow more demons to slip through, he just sat there watching. Dean quickly lost his patience and anger managed to wipe any pain off of his face.

 

“So what? Was this a test?”

 

Cain lifted his chin. “I felt connected to you from the moment you stepped through that door. It’s no wonder _this one_ ,” He glanced at me and back at Dean, “attached herself to you so quickly.”

 

Dean reared back slightly in disagreement at that and so did I. I hadn’t _attached_ myself to anyone, especially not Dean Winchester. 

 

“You’re just like me,” Cain finished.

 

“And how’s that?” Dean sneered. I moved towards him, creeping slowly until I was at his elbow.

 

Cain stood and the wooden chair he had been sitting in scraped across the floor before catching on one of the fallen demons. “You’re a murderer, Dean Winchester.”

 

Dean paused, “Maybe, but I didn’t kill my brother. I _saved_ him.”

 

The way Dean had said that? It felt like he couldn’t emphasize he strongly he felt it and how important that distinction was. 

 

Cain nodded, “Why?”

 

Dean almost scoffed in anger and disbelief, “Why? Because he’s my brother, that’s why. He’s family. You never give up on family, _ever_.” Dean seethed. 

 

“And here you are, saving him again,” Cain crossed his arms.

 

“You’re goddamned right,” Dean said. He shook for a moment and his hand shot out to steady himself by gripping the hard wooden back of the chair. I reached for him without thinking, but stopped myself quickly, my hand hovering in midair for just a moment before I jerked back. I could see Dean gritting his teeth and clenching his jaw. Sweat trickled down his temple. He was very pale, too pale. 

 

“I wonder, does your brother deserve such devotion? Does he share your philosophy?” Cain waltzed up to Dean and in response Dean stood up straighter. His fist closed around the chair more tightly. My head throbbed even more at Cain’s proximity as if it could remember what Cain had subjected it to.

 

“Of course he does,” Dean spat, “I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing here, and honestly? I don’t really care. Are you going to give me what I need, or what?” 

 

Dean’s skin had gone from pale to grey and chalky, but he stood up straight and defiant. I knew better then to think he was fine. I could see the slight tremor shaking his body and the way he gripped the back of the wooden chair. How that white-knuckled grip was the only thing keeping him upright. Blood flowed from the wound in his shoulder freely, soaking through his shirt and staining his jacket. 

 

“I can give you the mark, Dean, if that’s what you really want,” Cain rolled up his sleeve to reveal the angry red brand on the inside of his forearm. I felt sick looking at it. I could almost feel the pulsing darkness that emanated from it. 

 

“It can be transferred,” Cain continued and drew his fingers across the mark gently as if caressing a lover, “to someone worthy of it.”

 

Dean cocked his chin, “You mean a killer like you.”

 

Cain nodded and clenched his fist, the skin around the mark pulled taught and bringing it in sharp relief, “Yes. But it comes with a great burden. One might call it a great cost.”

 

“Dean,” I interjected and they both turned to look at me as if they’d forgotten I was standing there. Crowley all but glared at me for interrupting. “You don’t have to do this. We can find another way.”

 

Dean’s nostrils flared, “Sam doesn’t have time for another way.” He turned back to Cain. “Where do I sign?”

 

“Good luck, Dean,” Cain extended his hand and Dean had to let go of the chair to shake it. I stepped closer to him and wrapped my fist into the cloth of his jacket at the small of his back to provide him some stability.

 

Dean jerked when Cain tightened his grip and then pulled Dean’s arm towards him, “You’re going to need it,” Dean didn’t have time to prepare himself when an angry red welt blossomed on his forearm and grew into the mark. Dean cried out at the burning heat on his arm before it faded. Cain’s arm was suddenly blemish free, and Dean’s wasn’t. When Cain let go of Dean’s arm he swayed. I wrapped my arm around his waist and helped him remain standing until Dean had regained his balance. 

 

Dean looked at me and I let go and stepped away. 

 

_You okay?_ I frowned at him. Dean kept staring at me silently.

 

Crowley clapped his hands. “Lovely, now the blade is…” He looked at Cain expectantly who glowered at him. 

 

“The only way I could keep my promise to Colette was to throw it into the deepest ocean. The blade cannot be destroyed,” Cain snapped his fingers and an oppressive weight in the air that I hadn’t noticed before disappeared. Crowley’s shoulders seem to lift as if he’d felt it too, “On it.” He snapped his fingers and disappeared.

 

Cain turned back to Dean who swallowed and shook more with every passing moment, “You find the blade, kill Abaddon, but make me a promise first,”

 

Dean stiffened when Cain closed the little distance between us left.

 

“When I call you—and I _will_ call—you come find me and use the blade on me.”

 

Dean eyes narrowed in confusion, “Why?”

 

Cain’s jaw clenched, “For what I’m about to do.” He snapped and the doors flew open, demons flooded into the room with wild snarls. Dean’s good arm flew out in front of me and I grabbed onto it. Cain pressed his fingers into our backs and suddenly we were on the back porch under the screened awning. 

 

“Dean let’s go, now,” I urged as I watched demons swarm around the house and flood through the front door. I had the urge to sneeze or cough or something to clear my nasal passages and my throat but I ignored it and yanked Dean’s arm to follow me.

 

The second we made past the screen door Dean staggered and I was quick to catch him as best I could. I almost crumpled under his weight but he groaned and tried to stand without me. My whole body ached and my knees shook with the effort but I held onto him all the same.

 

“How about we meet in the middle, huh buddy?” I panted and he nodded, resting some of his weight on me. “You’re going to be okay, Dean. Don’t you worry.”

 

The house behind us glowed red and demons shrieked in their death throes.

 

He laughed weakly, “Yeah, sure thing, _buddy_.” 

 

I might’ve smiled if I hadn’t been so scared. Scared that I was lying to Dean and to myself. Dean staggered again and this time he couldn’t catch himself. We both went down and whatever color Dean had managed to regain disappeared from his cheeks as he landed awkwardly on his injured shoulder. 

 

“Aghh!” It was a deep guttural scream of true pain that frightened me even more. I unraveled myself from under Dean’s good arm and knelt next to him as he rolled onto his back and used it to hold his shoulder. 

 

“Shit! Dean, I’m so sorry!”

 

The scream turned into a laugh, harsh and forced. “Son of a bitch…are you trying to kill me, sweetheart?” Dean shot me the most charming smile he could muster through the pain and exhaustion and I couldn’t help but smile back through the tears that threatened to fall. God, what was wrong with me? Crying? Was I actually on the brink of tears? It was the pain, and the adrenaline, the shock that was making me weepy. Not—

 

“What can I say,” I asked thickly, “You had it coming, Winchester.” 

 

Dean laughed shortly again and groaned. Every inch of him was now trembling violently and I could hear his teeth chatter in his mouth. I had to get us out of the cold. 

 

“I know you’re tired, Dean,” I put his arm around my shoulder and helped him sit up. “But, you gotta help me out. I’m not strong enough to carry you.” 

 

I tried to lift him and a pained whine made it past his gritted teeth, “C’mon, don’t be such a baby, Dean. You’re a big strong man, I know you can do it. Up we go.” He was so weak. So _so_ weak. It was scarier then the demons and Cain. I had seen Dean beat up before, I’d seen Dean worse than he was at that moment, but this was real. He could die, and it would be my fault. 

 

He scoffed and I took the opportunity to try and lift him up again while he was distracted. Dean shifted his feet so he could stand after I yanked him up and he cried out again before leaning against me heavily. 

 

“Ah, oh you animal…” He panted and wheezed painfully. 

 

“We’re almost there, Dean. Look at baby. She’s right there.” 

 

Dean pursed his lips and continued to struggle forward until we finally made it to the driver’s door of the Impala. The metal was ice cold beneath my fingertips and I helped Dean lean against the car so that I could open the door. Both of us were shaking horribly. 

 

“Avery,” He sighed painfully, “I—ugh goddammit—I-I can’t drive.” 

 

“What!” I asked horrified my teeth chattering. “You have to drive. I can’t drive stick, I-I never learned how!” 

 

Dean’s legs buckled and I caught him in time only to soften the blow. I had my arms wrapped underneath his armpits and fell with him, both of us landing on our knees. 

 

“It’s okay, I gotcha,” I gasped. Dean’s head lolled onto my shoulder and I shook him a little. “Dean? Oh c’mon, Dean, don’t do this to me now!” I placed my hand on his stubbled cheek and gave him a few sharp slaps trying not to worry about how cold and stiff his skin felt under my hand. 

 

When Dean didn’t respond I cursed. “Okay, Okay, we can do this.” I muttered more to myself than to Dean. I pushed him back until his legs were out from under him and leaned him back against the car, almost dropping his limp body once or twice. The blood had stopped leaking from his wound and the blood on his shirt and jacket had hardened in the cool air. 

 

I reached blindly into his coat for the Impala’s keys. The pockets were deep and full of random scraps of paper, a few loose pens, his Zippo lighter, and—aha!—the keys. My fingers closed over the cool metal ring and I pulled it out triumphantly before remembering that I still had to get Dean into the car _and_ drive him to a hospital. 

 

I unlocked the car and yanked open the Impala’s back door, it creaked loudly in the now silent night. The house had gone quiet and the red light had faded from its windows. I couldn’t even hear the buzzing of bees that I’d become accustomed to.

 

Taking a deep breath, I nodded and bent down, wrapping my arms around Dean’s torso and lifting with all my might.

 

“Oh Jesus!” I groaned and widened my stance. He had to weigh at least a hundred and seventy pounds if not more. I pulled again and managed to ease his butt onto the floor of the Impala. I rested for a couple of moments and then heaved him up onto the backseat. I let him fall back as gently as I could muster so that he was now lying on the backseat with his feet still hanging out of the Impala. 

 

“I need to work out more,” I panted before running around to the other side of the car and opening the door. My heart sank into my stomach when I realized that I’d have to pull him by both arms, not just the uninjured one, to get him all the way in. My fingers flew to the point on his neck under his jaw and I sighed in relief when I found a thready pulse still pounding just beneath the surface. 

 

Dean would have looked almost peaceful if not for the deep pallor in his face and the blue tint on his lips. This was the first time I’d ever seen him without any of his walls up. His face was open, vulnerable. I wasn’t quite sure if I liked it. I took a moment to succumb to the aches and pains the wracked my body before I shook it away and took his hands in mine, pulling and tugging him the rest of the way in. I’d almost made it through when his eyes snapped open and he inhaled sharply. His breath caught in his throat and he choked on the pain radiating from his shoulder. I realized a moment too late that he’d woken up and tugged him the rest of the way through. 

 

“Fuck!” 

 

I jumped and hit my head on the roof of the Impala, screaming in pain and surprise, while Dean rolled onto his good shoulder and vomited onto the floor of the Impala. 

 

“Dean?” I asked urgently and ignored the renewed throbbing pain in my skull. Without thinking I put my hand in his hair and ran my fingers through it before letting them rest on his temple. “Are you okay—sorry that’s a stupid thing to ask.”

 

“Can’t believe…all over…what a mess…poor baby…” He groaned inaudibly. I pulled back my hand as if I’d been burned when I realized how intimate the gesture I’d made was. 

 

“Dean, I need you to stay awake and teach me how to drive this car,” I shimmied out of the back seat, shut both of the doors, and almost dived into the driver’s seat of the Impala. The sour smell of vomit quickly filled the interior of the car but I ignored it.,“Dean? What am I supposed to do? You still with me?”

 

“Yeah…” Dean said weakly from behind me and I glanced into the rearview mirror. He was propped up on his good shoulder. He looked weak but alert. “Put…put it into neutral before you start the car or it’ll stall.” 

 

I looked around wildly, “Where is neutral? There’s no ’N,’ Dean!”

 

“Relax,” Dean said in a stern voice which was blunted by its weakness. “Neutral is just in the middle. The shifter should be able to move around freely—ah!”

 

“Dean!” I asked alarmed and turned around. He had rolled onto his back again and was holding his shoulder. His eyes were closed tightly. 

 

“M’fine j-just concentrate. Don’t wreck my car, Avery. I-I mean it.” 

 

“Okay, okay, now what?” 

 

“The pedal to the very left is the clutch, push it all the way down.”

 

I did that.

 

“Turn on the Impala.”

 

The car rumbled to life and the headlights turned on. Dean groaned as the movement of the car beneath him shook his body and strained his shoulder. 

 

“Put it into first.”

 

The car started to make a weird grinding sound. “Wait what just happened? Dean?”

 

“Were you—agh—holding down the clutch?” 

 

“You didn’t say I had to keep holding it!”

 

“Okay, okay fine! Just, press the clutch down—HOLD IT—”

 

“Okay! I’m holding it jeez—”

 

“Put it back into neutral…did you put it back into neutral?”

 

“Yes!”

 

“Don’t,” Dean groaned tiredly, “get snippy with me. I’m trying to help you.”

 

I immediately felt ashamed, “Okay sorry, what next?”

 

“Put it into first…”

 

Dean continued to guide me and I managed to get the car rolling and onto the road. With one hand I searched on my phone for the nearest hospital and set a route on my GPS to get us there. 

“Didn’t…anyone ever tell you…n-not to text and drive?” Dean joked half-heartedly. 

 

“I’m a rebel,” I shot back to keep him busy. “Besides, if I end up dying in a car crash, I’ll count myself lucky.” A passing car’s headlights filled the Impala with light for a moment and I saw how much grayer Dean had gotten. His lips were almost white now and his eyes were bloodshot. 

 

“We’re almost there, Dean,” I promised as I watched his eyelids start to flutter, “Don’t you dare give up on me just yet.”

* * *

 

 

The car sputtered and stalled about fifty feet from the emergency bay doors, “Fuck!” I tried to start it again and I wasted a few seconds trying to put it back into first gear. I finally gave up and jumped out of the car, “Help, please somebody help me!” I cried out running towards the hospital. Two EMTs leapt up from their perches on the back of an ambulance and ran towards me. I lead them back to the Impala and tore open the backseat door. I shook Dean, but he didn’t move. 

 

“What’s wrong ma’am? What happened?” A doctor with sandy hair and brilliant blue eyes asked me while the other two pushed me aside and started assessing Dean’s injuries. 

 

A hastily fabricated explanation spilled out of my mouth as blue eyes probed my nose with his latex-gloved fingers and flashed a light in my eyes to check my pupil reactivity. When he asked about how I knew Dean I stuttered and paused. 

 

“H—he’s my…husband.” 

 

I wanted to smack myself the second I said it, but at the same time, I reasoned with myself that they wouldn’t let me stay with him unless he was immediate family. I blinked over at Dean who had been hauled onto a stretcher and was being rolled away. I ignored blue eyes and chased after the gurney.

 

“Hey, where are you taking him! Is he going to be alright?” 

 

“Ma’am, please step back. Stephens, call the OR we need to get him on a table stat.”

 

“OR? Does he need surgery? What’s going on!” I begged and continued to chase Dean and the doctors through the emergency bay doors. Blue eyes had a loose grip on my forearm.

 

“Stephens!” One of the doctors taking Dean away barked at blue eyes. 

 

“But doctor—”

 

“Kearny,” The same doctor, probably the attending physician, snapped at the doctor to his left, “Take her to exam room one. Stephens, with me, now!” 

 

Blue eyes reluctantly let go of my arm and the other doctor, Kearny, sighed and led me down the hall as his colleagues took Dean away.

 

“He’s going to be alright though, isn’t he?” I asked again as Kearny pulled me into a private exam room. The scent of disinfectant burned my nose and made me sick. I hated hospitals. 

 

Kearny looked at me and hesitated. “We’ll do our best to help your husband, Ma’am.” He sat me down on the examination table and pushed me gently. I followed his lead, numb. 

I might’ve just killed Dean Winchester.


	18. Empty

Dean opened his eyes slowly. His eyelids felt swollen, puffy, dry, almost like they did after a long night of drinking. Dean tried swallowing but too soon realized there wasn’t enough moisture in his mouth and the walls of his throat seemed to stick together. Dean blinked again and coughed dryly. 

 

The incessant beeping of a heart monitor started to grate on his nerves as each pulse of sound made his head twinge painfully. Dean hadn’t felt this beat up in a long time. Every inch of him ached in a way that made him never want to move again. His left arm was wrapped tightly against his chest and he could only feel a faint prickling in his fingertips. Dean stiffened for a moment in panic as the memories of what landed him in that bed in the first place came rushing back. Dean tried to sit up but hissed at the white-hot pain it caused and leaned back into the pillows. 

 

“Mmm,”

 

Dean blinked again in surprise and focused his gaze on the messy pile of blonde hair that was strewn over the side of his bed and draped over Avery’s face. Her head was resting on her right arm and Dean realized quickly that her other hand was wrapped loosely around his. Dean zeroed in on their joined hands and felt a wave of confusion rush through him. Her wrist was red and swollen and her knuckles were bruised dark purple; nonetheless, her hand was wrapped around his.

 

Dean could picture quite clearly in his mind what had probably happened. Avery waiting anxiously in the emergency room while he had been wheeled away in critical condition, and finally, when the doctors had patched him up and stuck him in one of the many sterile rooms of the hospital, they had led her to him. 

 

He looked around the room and noticed the awkward solitary chair near the door, how it was not quite centered. He then glanced down at the chair Avery now occupied. She’d pulled it up next to Dean’s bed and, what, gripped his hand? Tried to wake him? Pleaded with him to be okay? Had she fallen asleep during her fervent vigil? 

 

It was both the most likely and most unlikely scenario at the same time. If he and Avery had been closer, then Dean wouldn’t have even blinked. 

 

But they weren’t close. They weren’t even friends. Hell, they hated each other. 

 

_“I don’t hate you.”_

 

_“You-you don’t?”_

 

_“No…do you hate me?”_

 

_“No.”_

 

Dean blinked again. Had he an Avery really come that far? It felt like yesterday to him that they were at each other's throats, ready to tear each other limb from limb.But now? Now Avery was holding his hand at his sick bed…and Dean wasn’t pulling away. 

 

Dean closed his fingers around Avery’s hand slowly and tried not to think too hard about why before he closed his eyes again, and fell back asleep. 

 

———————————————————————————————————————

 

When Dean’s eyes opened again, he noticed that Avery was no longer at his bedside.

A doctor with bright blue eyes and sandy hair walked into the room holding a clipboard. Avery wasn’t with him and Dean immediately sat up a little straighter.

 

“Mr. Jackson, I see you’ve finally made it back to the land of the living.” 

 

“Finally? What do you mean? Where’s Avery?” Dean asked in quick succession. The doctor crossed his arms behind his back.

 

“You’ve been in a coma for a little under a week.”

 

Dean felt like he’d been punched in the gut. A week? He’d been out for a whole week? And it suddenly made sense why Dean had been so stiff. A thought struck him like a ton of bricks. If He’d been in a coma for a week, then what had happened to Sam? Why hadn’t he found them already? Had Avery called him? Stalled? Had the angel riding Sam’s meat taken off with him?

 

“Your wife is back in her room where she should be.”

 

Dean blanched at ‘wife’ but let it slide for the moment. He’d have to ask Avery about that later.

 

“Her epilepsy has been out of control after the trauma you two endured. I’ve never seen such a violent case before. We’ve had her on every anti-convulsant known to man, and nothing seems to help.” 

 

The doctor set the clipboard down on Dean’s bed tray, “Despite this, your wife likes to sneak out of her room, and the hospital, whenever it suits her.” The doctor crossed his arms. 

 

Dean smiled tightly, “That’s Avery all right, stubborn as a mule.” The worsening seizures must have meant that Avery’s visions had been getting more and more frequent. Dean couldn’t help but think it was because of whatever Cain had done to her. He remembered when Cain had palmed Avery’s forehead that night at the ranch. The way her eyes had rolled to the back of her head and blood had poured from her eyes, nose, and ears. 

 

“Have her seizures always been this bad?” The doctor asked. “Your wife wouldn’t tell me anything about her medical history.”

 

Dean rolled his eyes internally. Of course, she wouldn’t say anything about her medical history. She didn’t _know_ her medical history. All she knew was that she was schizophrenic and even that wasn’t real anyway. What could she possibly tell the doctor? 

 

The doctor looked at him expectantly, but Dean just shrugged and the doctor sighed, “Sir, we’re doing our best to help her, but you have to help us do that.”

 

“When can we get out of here, Doc?” Dean asked and the doctor looked taken aback. 

 

“Mr. Jackson, your wife’s condition is very severe. I strongly advise that she stay under medical supervision until she improves. Not to mention your own injuries—” 

 

Dean smirked, “I’m sure we can handle it.”

 

The doctor shook his head, “I don’t think you understand—”

 

Dean cut him off, “I understand perfectly well, doc, we’ve been dealing with this for a long time.”

 

His face flushed and a vein on his forehead bulged with frustration, “Then you know that a severe enough seizure can cause brain damage, among myriad other complications if the patient doesn’t receive immediate care? This is wholly irresponsible and I daresay negligent—”

 

“Stephens!” 

 

Both the doctor and Dean jumped a little and turned towards the entrance of the room. An older doctor with thick white hair and dark eyes stood fuming in the doorway. The doctor Dean had been speaking to shriveled under his glare.

 

“A word, please,” The white-haired doctor motioned towards the hallway and the doctor who’d been scolding him clenched his jaw before leaving the room. 

 

Dean listened to their hushed argument impatiently. He wanted to find Avery and get the hell out of dodge. The week they’d spent at the hospital waiting for him to wake up was one they couldn’t afford. Sam was doing who knows what with an angel still stuck inside of him and Abaddon was still on the loose and actively hunting Avery down. He didn’t have time for whatever emergency room drama these two doctors had. 

 

The white-haired doctor walked back into the room and closed the door behind him leaving his subordinate to wait outside in the hall. 

 

“I’m so sorry about that, Mr. Jackson. I’m Dr. Mathews, the attending physician. Now, I’m going to perform a few cognitive and reflex response exams to asses your brain function.” 

 

“I’m fine, doc,” Dean insisted. 

 

“You were in a coma for a week, son,” Mathews smiled good naturally, “I think we’d better be safe than sorry, hmm?” 

 

Dean suffered the doctor’s tests until finally, Mathews nodded to himself, “Seems everything is working as it should. You should count yourself lucky. Now, about your shoulder…”

 

Dean didn’t like the way Mathews had trailed off. “What about it?”

 

Mathews crossed his arms behind his back. “When you were attacked, the blade tore through the muscles in your shoulder, and did extensive damage to your brachial plexus.”

 

“English, doc,” Dean interrupted.

 

“There’s a bundle of nerves right behind your clavicle,” The doctor lightly rested to of his fingers on Dean to show him the area he’d been referring to, “up near the neck and between your shoulder. It controls much of the function in your arm. When you were attacked, the knife managed to get lodged up here and do quite a bit of damage.”

 

“What are you saying?” Dean pressed.

 

“I’m saying that your injury will take several weeks to heal, and even then you may never regain full function in your arm. Optimistically, we’re looking at eight to ten weeks, and that’s just recovery after surgery.” Mathews finished. 

 

Dean was gobsmacked. Eight to ten weeks? That was way too long, and even after that, he wouldn’t get full function in his arm. An injury like that would be a massive hindrance in any hunt, however simple. 

 

“So what, Doc? You telling me I can’t play major league ball anymore?” Dean joked weakly. Mathews looked at him sympathetically. 

 

“I’m sorry, I wish there was more I could do. That being said, we have an excellent physical therapy program and hopefully, after a few months we can get you to about 75 percent function.” 

 

_A few months, 75 percent function, physical therapy, what a fucking joke,_ Dean fumed. He and Avery couldn’t stay one more day let alone several months. Dean thanked the doctor and told him he would think about it. Mathews looked surprised at that but left Dean to his own devices. 

 

Dean sat in bed for the next hour and a half still reeling. It felt like the whole world was falling apart around him. Avery was seizing every other second, he was out for the count for at least two months, Cas was in the wind hunting down his angel buddies, Abaddon was causing a ruckus, and Sam had an angel riding co-pilot. It was too many things at once. He didn’t even know where to start.

 

Dean closed his eyes and banged his head against the backboard. And if that wasn’t enough to deal with, there was the quickly evolving mess of his and Avery’s relationship. First, they hated each other, now they didn’t, or something. She’s holding his hand and he’s cuddling her by accident. It was all bullshit, that chick flick crap that he couldn’t stand, but this was his life now. 

 

The door to his room opened and closed quickly and Dean’s eyes flew open. Avery snuck into his room dressed in a white hospital gown with blue dots. 

 

“Avery!”

 

She looked at him for a moment and drew the blinds closed in his room before peering out the little window on the door. “Okay, I think we’re clear.” 

 

“The clear?” Dean asked. “What do you mean?”

 

Avery crossed her arms, “I’m not supposed to be here. They’re scared that I’ll seize and bang my head against something.”

 

Dean cocked an eyebrow, “Should we be scared about that?”

 

Avery rolled her eyes, “I think we’ve got bigger fish to fry.”

 

Dean smirked half-heartedly, “Well then sweetheart, we’ll cut to the chase. D’ya miss me?”

 

A strangled laugh bubbled from her throat as she tried to suppress the relief and concern she was feeling. Dean knew he was beat to hell and so did Avery, but he must have looked better than he had a week ago. “You look like shit,” She finally managed.

 

Dean looked at her and pursed his lips. _I guess not that much better,_ He thought. “You don’t look too great yourself.” She looked weak, pale. Her lips were cracked and dry. Dean blinked when he noticed something off about her face. “Are you wearing makeup?” 

 

Avery blushed and looked away. A thick layer of concealer lightened the bruises on her face, under her eyes, and on her neck. “Uh, yeah…people kept giving me weird looks when I left the hospital. I thought this might help a bit.” 

 

Dean shifted again stiffly. 

 

“Look, Dean, I—I'm glad you’re okay. I thought—” Avery shook her head.

 

“C’ mon,” Dean smirked. “You think a couple of demons can take _me_ out?”

 

“We got our asses kicked.” Avery frowned.

 

“Last I checked, we won that fight,” Dean shrugged but winced when the nerves in his shoulder burned with pain.

 

“Yeah, we still got our asses kicked.” Avery crossed her arms.

 

“Well…” Dean looked at her and she bit her lip.

 

“If I hadn’t distracted you, that demon would have never—”

 

Dean sighed. “I gonna stop you right there. What happened wasn’t your fault.”

 

Avery went to protest but Dean cut her off,“And even if it was, what’s done is done. You can’t change the past.”

 

Avery pursed her lips, “Maybe not, but that doesn’t mean I can’t fix the shit I fucked up.”

 

She rounded towards him and started unwinding the tight gauze around his arm and shoulder. When he was finally free, his arm dropped limply to the bed. Dean stared at his swollen mangled shoulder for a moment before Avery clutched his hand. Dean blanched at the tight but gentle grip of Avery’s warm, slight fingers. “What are you—-?”

 

“Just shut up for two seconds, would you?” She snapped and closed her eyes. Her face was screwed up in deep concentration, the space between her dirty blonde eyebrows wrinkled, but nothing seemed to happen.

 

After a few moments of uneventful silence, a low humming filled the room and a blue-white light started to shine from behind Avery’s eyelids, the thin capillaries in her skin staining them light pink. The metallic scent of ozone stung Dean’s nostrils and he felt a burning sensation fill his arm and shoulder.

 

“What the—” Dean felt the muscles in his shoulder lock. It was not unlike the feeling of being electrocuted and having your muscles tense due to the electrical current. Blood started to trickle from Avery’s nose, dripping down her chin, and staining her hospital gown. Dean tried to wrench his hand away from hers but found that he couldn’t. His arm wouldn’t move. The bite of Avery’s fingernails against his skin made him wince as her grip grew tighter.

 

“Avery, stop!” He yelled over the whining pitch, but she didn’t listen. Tears started to roll down her cheeks and her lips turned blue and bruised. The vibrant red of her blood cut through the pallor of her skin. Dean used his other hand to pull the one Avery gripped away from her. It all stopped in that same instant. The sound, the light, the metallic scent, she crumpled to the floor and Dean jumped out of bed to kneel next to her.

 

“Avery! Are you okay? What the hell was that? What did you do?” Dean asked in quick succession while pulling her up slightly off the floor. Dean ignored the slight hitch in his shoulder. Her eyes fluttered and opened, no longer an unnatural glowing white, but the familiar cool grey Dean was used to.

 

“I’ve been… practicing.” She said weakly and wiped her nose. Blood stained the back of her pale white hand and smeared against her lip. She looked at her hand for a moment before she let it drop while her other hand tightened around the fabric of his hospital gown. 

 

“Practicing? Practicing what?” Dean asked. A shudder rushed over her body and she swallowed. 

 

“Dean, press the call button.” 

 

“What? Why? Are you okay?” Dean repeated. 

 

“I’m gonna have a seizure. Call the doctors.” 

 

Dean’s eyes widened. He laid her down gently before he leapt up to grab the tiny remote that sat on the edge of his bed. He pressed the red button three or four times and knelt back down next to Avery.

 

“How’s the arm?” She asked and Dean frowned. Her blonde hair was splayed out on the floor like a halo around her head.

 

“How’s the—” It suddenly dawned on Dean that the pain in his shoulder had almost completely vanished. Sensation had returned, and all but the slightest hindrance of pain somewhere deep in his muscles kept him from moving it completely freely. All of the aches and pains that Dean had pushed to the back of his mind, until then, were gone as well. 

 

Dean didn’t have time to marvel at what had just happened because almost as soon as he’d figured it out, Avery’s back arched impossibly and she started to convulse. Foam gathered around her lips and her muscles jerked randomly. Her arms were flailing to the sides and her eyes rolling to the back of her head. The door burst open, nurses and doctors flooding the room and pulling Dean away from Avery. One of the nurses rolled her on her side so that the frothing saliva didn’t enter her lungs. She tried forcing a mouth guard type device into Avery’s mouth with some difficulty but eventually managed to get it in so that she wouldn’t bite her tongue off.

 

The nurse that had pulled him away from Avery pressed her palms against his chest and pushed him towards his bed. “You have to lie back down, sir.” 

 

“But—”

 

“Gimme 50 CCs of diazepam,” The doctor ordered and a different nurse swiftly handed him a syringe with a long thin needle. In one fluid motion, he jabbed Avery with it and depressed the plunger until all of the drugs was in her system. Slowly but surely, Avery’s bucking slowed to random twitches. The nurse that was pushing him scolded him about the discarded gauze and his exposed shoulder, but Dean wasn’t paying attention.

 

Dean was watching as the doctor stood up and left the nurse who had handed him the syringe, to sit with Avery. 

 

“Is that it? You’re not going to do anything else?” Dean asked.

 

“There’s nothing left to do, sir. This is as good as its gonna get until the episode is over.” The doctor said. 

 

“Nurse Roberts, please help Mr. Jackson back into bed.”

 

Dean pulled away from the pushy nurse, “I’m fine; I can do it myself.” He snarled.

 

The doctor frowned at his no longer wrapped arm and how easily Dean had moved. He stepped around Avery and started probing Dean’s left shoulder gently. 

 

Dean gritted his teeth against the mild burning pain it caused, “Hey, back off!”

 

“That’s impossible,” The doctor muttered. “Your arm was mangled. I watched the nurse change your dressings.”

 

He probed the arm again and his eyes widened, “How— you shouldn’t be able— it’s a miracle!” 

 

Dean pulled his arm away and glanced at Avery who was still twitching and jerking in the nurse’s arms. _Miracle? Yeah, right._

 

———————————————————————————————————————

 

I opened my eyes and blinked against the harsh white light of the hospital overhead lamps. Everything throbbed with dull pain from my toes to my temples. 

 

“Hey, you’re awake.”

 

I turned my head to look at Dean. His face was pinched with anger. 

 

“That was some stunt you pulled.”

 

I sighed, “Yeah, well, what can I say. You had it coming, Winchester.”

 

Dean clucked his tongue, “Don’t be cute with me.”

 

“Oh, you think I’m cute now?”

 

“Avery—”

 

“Dean.” I mocked. 

 

He shook his head. “What were you thinking?”

 

I studied him for a moment before answering. The bruises on his face had faded almost completely. They looked weeks old instead of the fresh purple they had been earlier. “I was thinking that you couldn’t be down one arm. Especially if it was my fault you were down an arm. So, I fixed it.”

 

“Yeah, and you almost died.” Dean scolded. I scoffed.

 

“I didn’t almost die, Dean.”

 

“You didn’t see it.” He argued. “You didn’t hear what the doctors said. They told me that if you keep going the way you’re going, you’ll be a vegetable.” 

 

“Vegetable isn’t dead, Dean.”

 

“Yeah? Well, it might as well be.”

 

“Who cares?” I asked honestly. Dean blinked, taken aback. 

 

“I mean, you know what you need to do to get Sam back. You don’t need me. If I’m dead, then I’m no longer dangerous. No one can use me if I’m gone.” 

 

Dean stared at me silently. His face was blank, devoid of emotion. 

 

“Since when are you suicidal?”

 

I rolled my eyes. “I’m not suicidal.”

 

“You just said that you didn’t care if you live or die.”

 

“That’s not the same as wanting to off myself.” I bit back. 

 

“Alright fine, but why risk killing yourself for me, huh? We’re not friends. You don’t owe me anything. Why me?” 

 

I felt my throat tighten and my heart beat faster. Why him? It was a good question. One I didn’t want to answer.

 

“We’re not friends?” I whispered and Dean blinked.

 

“Are we?” He asked and I sighed. It was a good question. One we obviously didn’t know the answer to. I decided to drop it. This wasn’t the time to figure out if we should buy each other best friends forever bracelets and skip into the sunset together. 

 

“There isn’t a reason,” I looked away. “I healed you because it was the right thing to do.” 

 

Dean stood up. “I don’t believe you.” 

 

“That sounds like your problem, not mine.” I closed my eyes and leaned back into the pillows. Dean’s tired sigh filled the room. 

 

“We need to leave.”

 

“I know.” I didn’t open my eyes. “Have you called Sam yet?”

 

“He should be here in a couple of hours.”

 

“Is everything ready?” 

 

“Yeah.”

 

I opened my eyes and looked at him. He had turned his back to me and his arms were crossed. “Are you ready?”

 

Dean cocked his head to the side slightly, not quite turning to face me. “As I’ll ever be.” 

 

———————————————————————————————————————

Sneaking out of the hospital wasn’t difficult. There was so much commotion that all Dean and I had to do was wait for the nurses to get distracted and then slip past them. We were back on the road in ten minutes and we arrived at the motel where we’d be meeting with Crowley in fifteen. Everything was ready.

 

Anthony was reading a magazine on the couch, a jug of holy oil was stowed in one of the closets, and a pair of Enochian engraved handcuffs were in Dean’s back pocket. The weakening wards were painted on the walls. All that was left to do was wait for Sam.

 

I crossed my arms, leaned back against the wall nearest the door, and closed my eyes for a moment. Ever since I’d healed Dean’s arm, I’d felt weak, tired. Slater had warned me that my powers were out of whack but I’d never thought that using them would do this. Whatever Cain had done to pull those memories of Colette to the forefront of my mind had broken a dam. Bits and pieces were coming back little by little. It was violent and painful but I was remembering. And when I remembered how to heal others, there was no way I couldn't _not_ heal Dean. 

 

Something cool and wet hit the back of my forearm and I opened my eyes. Dean was frowning at me and holding up a glass of water. 

 

“Drink. You look like you’re going to pass out.”

 

I blinked at him and nodded before taking the glass. Our fingers brushed for a moment and I jumped, the slick glass slipped from my loose grip and smashed to the floor. “Shit!”

 

Dean rolled his eyes and stopped me with a firm grip around my forearm before I could stoop down to pick up the shards of glass. “You need to rest. Your nerves are shot.”

 

“I’m fine.” I bent over again to clean up the mess and he pulled me back up.

 

Dean looked at me and said slowly. “I’ll get it. The last thing I need is for you to slice yourself open.” His hand was still wrapped around my arm. 

 

I shot Dean a weak glare and he cocked an eyebrow at me. “I’m—”

 

“Fine,” He finished for me. “Yeah, I know.” 

 

He wasn’t taunting me. He was…I don’t know. It suddenly occurred to me that Dean was _very_ much in my space. I wanted to say something witty, make him scowl at me and retreat, but couldn’t find the will to. I liked that he was in my space. I didn’t want him to stop being in my space.

 

“Okay,” I said softly. Dean just nodded silently and I let him pick up the glass. My arm still burned from the warmth of his missing hand. I watched him take the pieces over to the trashcan for a moment before I sat down on one of the beds. 

 

Crowley watched the exchange with bored eyes and sighed loudly, “When did you say Moose would be arriving?”

 

“Soon,” Dean bit out. 

 

There was a sharp rap at the door and we all stiffened. Dean looked at me and I felt a knot of anxiety tighten in my gut. 

 

Crowley huffed, “You weren’t kidding.”

 

“Dean, open up!” Sam’s muffled voice came from behind the motel door. More frantic knocks and Dean squared his shoulders.

 

“I’m coming, Sammy, don’t get your panties in a twist.” As soon as Dean had unlocked and opened the door, Sam came bursting in. 

 

“Where the hell have you to been? I thought you were dead or Abaddon had—” Sam paused and looked at Anthony and then Crowley. “What…is going on here?”

 

“We’re having an intervention,” Crowley said with mock gravity. I crowded Sam slightly so that he would take a step further to the left.

 

“An intervention? What are you talking about?” 

 

_C’mon, Sammy, Just one more step…_

 

“Sam, I need you to calm down,” Dean said sternly. 

 

Sam scowled. “Calm down?” Sam moved closer to his brother and I pulled Dean’s Zippo lighter out of my back pocket. “You two disappeared and left a trail of bodies behind you—”

 

_Snick_

 

Sam turned in time to see the lighter hit the carpet and ignite the ring of holy oil that Dean and I had laid earlier. The room was silent for a moment while Sam looked at the fire and then at us.

 

“Dean, what the hell is this?” He asked slowly.

 

Dean’s shoulders sank slightly and shame pulled his eyes closed. He couldn’t look his brother in the eyes. “You were dying, Sammy. I didn’t know what to do. I tried praying to Cas but he wouldn’t answer. I didn’t know that he—”

 

“What did you do?” Sam demanded again and sounded almost afraid of what he was going to hear. 

 

Deans lips pursed, “Someone did answer my prayers. An angel named Ezekiel showed up and offered to help but you were in really bad shape, Sammy. He said the only way to heal you would be from the inside out…”

 

Sam blinked rapidly and Dean waited for Sam to process what he’d said. 

 

“Possession you mean,” Sam said bluntly. 

 

Dean’s jaw flexed under his cheeks, “Yeah.”

 

“Angels can’t possess humans without consent,” Sam retorted. “I didn’t consent. There’s no way—”

 

“We tricked you into saying yes. It was the only way.”

 

“The only way?” Sam repeated. His nostrils flared and his fists clenched and unclenched at his sides. The fire crackled around him and filled the silence for a moment.

 

I decided it was time for me to step in. “That part is less important, Sam.” He scoffed at me but I ignored him and continued. “That angel was lying about who he was. His real name is Gadreel. He was the one who let Lucifer into the Garden.” 

 

Sam’s eyes widened and he snapped his glare back at Dean.

 

“We needed to find a way to get him out of you without spooking him and making him run into Metatron’s arms. That’s why—”

 

“You lied to me,” He finished. “That’s why you lied to me, both of you.” Sam shook his head in bitter disbelief. I could see the anger tighten the muscles in his neck and the paleness around his knuckles gave away how tightly he was clenching his hands. If he hadn’t been trapped in the ring of holy fire, I’d bet that he’d be throwing fists at his brother. 

 

He laughed coldly, “I wanna say that I can’t believe you did this, but I can’t. I’m not surprised, Dean. I’m not surprised that you did something _so stupid_. I’m not surprised that you made this decision for me. I’m not surprised that you took the choice away from me with no thought!” Sam started to yell from deep in his chest, “No thought of what might happen! Of what the consequences would be for anyone close to us!” 

 

“Nothing happened!” Dean yelled back, his face red with frustration. “Nobody got hurt—”

 

“I got hurt!” 

 

That stopped Dean cold in his tracks. Sam sighed heavily before drawing in a shaky breath. “I thought I was going insane. I kept losing chunks of time and when Avery disappeared…”

 

Shame burned my cheeks and I had to avert my gaze. 

 

“I thought it was my fault. I felt so useless, so—” Sam sighed again, “If anything had happened to her…to anyone because I couldn’t keep my shit together for a couple of days, I would have never forgiven myself. I felt like shit, Dean. _You_ did that.”

 

I glanced at Dean who was staring at Sam stonily, “No, I saved your life and I’d do it again.” 

 

“That’s the problem,” Sam spat, “I didn’t ask you to save my life!”

 

“Oh please,” Dean sneered, “can you even hear me from up there on your high horse, Sammy? You know that if the positions had been reversed, you would have done the same thing so I don’t wanna hear—”

 

“No, I wouldn’t.”

 

Dean looked like he’d been struck and my jaw fell open. Crowley who I had completely forgotten was in the room muttered under his breath, “Oh my,” and elbowed Anthony who looked like he would rather the ground swallow him then have to bear witness to another minute of their fraternal dispute.

 

“If it had been the same circumstances, roles reversed… I wouldn’t have saved you,” Sam reiterated.

 

“Same circumstances?” Dean asked quietly, almost to make sure that he’d heard correctly.

 

Sam nodded, “Same circumstances.” 

 

I had always thought that when Sam said this in the show it was prompted by Kevin’s death. That Sam uttered this earth-shattering statement because he would rather trade his life for Kevin’s then bear the guilt of living a life he didn’t deserve. Never did I think that he would still feel the same way without the guilt of Kevin’s death weighing on his shoulders. 

 

“You are such a fucking brat,” I hissed. Everyone in the room looked at me in shock. “How dare you say something like that to your brother after everything he’s done for you?”

 

“Avery—” Dean warned.

 

“No,” I glared at Dean and walked right up to the edge of the flames, felt the heat lick the skin on my neck and face turning my already ruddy complexion from agitation to a deeper shade of pink. 

 

“You are so full of shit and you and I both know it. I’m not saying what your brother did was right or that it wouldn’t have hurt you or others, but he did it for _you._ All he has ever done his whole fucking life has been for _you_.”

 

“He did it for himself!” Sam fumed. “He couldn’t stand to be alone, so he tricked me and endangered everyone!” 

 

“That’s bullshit! He would have laid down his life for you!” 

 

“Avery!” Dean barked and yanked me away from the flames. “That’s enough!” 

 

“But—”

 

“No! What is wrong with you? You don’t speak for me. He’s not your brother and we’re not your family!” Dean glowered. “Shut the fuck up and stand over there.” He shoved me roughly over to where Crowley and Anthony stood silently and I stared at him for a moment before turning bright red. He was right. It wasn’t my place to say anything at all and I’d just inserted myself into a family dispute that wasn’t my business. I still couldn’t help but feel a little stung. I’d stood up for him, hadn’t I? Dean hardened his gaze when he saw that I hadn’t moved, so I ducked my head and took my place next to Crowley. 

 

Dean tossed Sam the Enochian engraved handcuffs which Sam fumbled and caught before he glared back at his brother.

 

“Put those on.” 

 

Sam clenched his jaw but snapped the handcuffs on himself all the same. Dean stamped out the flames with his foot and then stood back. The cuffs wouldn’t trap Gadreel in but they would strip him of whatever little power he had left so that Sam could cast him out.

 

“Okay,” Dean nodded, “Gadreel, if you can hear me in there, we want to talk. The wards and the cuffs are for safety but we’re not your enemies.”

 

Dean waited a beat a nodded, “Sam, you’re up.”

 

Sam hesitated for a moment, not quite sure what he was supposed to do, before closing his eyes tightly. Moments passed in silence and I shuffled impatiently for something to happen. Water from the leaky faucet in the bathroom ricocheted off of cheap porcelain with a dull smack and filled the hollow silence. Sam opened his eyes again and let out a frustrated huff. 

 

“What gives?” Dean asked, “Let’s get this show on the road.” 

 

“I don’t know what to do,” Sam bit out. 

 

Crowley stepped forward but paused cautiously when dual angry stares landed on him from the brothers. “Perhaps I can be of assistance. That is why I’m here, after all.” 

 

“What do you mean?” Sam asked.

 

Crowley smirked, “Just a quick cavity search. Pop in and out, done in a minute.”

 

Dean clucked his tongue in disgust and Sam bristled, “No way in hell, Crowley.”

 

Crowley rolled his eyes, “Now now, let’s not be juvenile about this. I wouldn’t do anything untoward. Your angel friend just needs a bit of coaxing is all.”

 

“Sam,” I said, “He can help. And the sooner we get this over with—”

 

“Yeah, okay. Fine.” 

 

Crowley smirked, “You don’t still have that pesky little tattoo, do you?”

 

Sam looked at Dean and then back out Crowley before sighing and unbuttoning his top two buttons. Sam pulled his shirt down enough to expose the tattoo and Crowley frowned.

 

Crowley placed a finger on Sam’s chest and a paper thin cut streaked across the marked skin making Sam leap in pain and surprise. 

 

“Ow!” He complained.

 

Dean moved forward and Crowley waved his hand, “Oh don’t be such a baby. He’s fine. Now,” Crowley smirked again, “Open wide.”

 

Smoke poured out of Crowley’s mouth and into Sam’s. Crowley’s body collapsed as the last of the smoke left his mouth and Sam stiffened for only a moment. When Sam’s eyes opened again, they were red.

 

“How interesting,” Crowley said with Sam’s mouth, “Moose here is emptier than a gourd.”

 

“What?” Dean’s eyes widened. Sam’s mouth opened again and smoke filtered out of him and back into Crowley’s body. 

 

As soon as everything was set right, Sam gasped and turned to Dean.

 

“What—what happened?”

 

“Gadreel isn’t in you,” I whispered.

 

“Wait, if the angel isn’t in me…” Sam started. 

 

“Then where did he go?” Dean finished and looked at me. 

 

I felt the blood leave my face, “Oh God…Kevin.” 


	19. Death and All His Friends Walk Into a Bar

Thomas Slater was many things; Irresponsible, petulant, arrogant, mischievous, etc. But, no one could say that he wasn't loyal. He had stood by his kind for all of their existence, with particular care towards one frustratingly stubborn blonde. It didn't matter if she had endangered a whole civilization, toppled a South American dictatorship, or dragged him to a Nickelback concert.

 

He had stuck by her.

 

And yet, It felt as if she were hell-bent on testing his loyalty at every turn. He had suffered through it all, and it wasn't until he could barely recognize her as the inter-dimensional celestial being he once knew and loved that Slater had finally faltered.

 

Avery wasn't Avery anymore.

 

Something about her… the spark that had characterized her personality had faded into the jumbled mess of confusion and uncertainty that was now her hallmark. What made it worse was perhaps the knowledge that she might never be the same. There was no bringing her back, not really.

 

Thomas' heart ached with grief at the idea. It felt like she'd died and left a twisted unrecognizable shadow in her wake to torment him. He longed for her in ways he hadn't longed for anything in a very long time. Their relationship had been unique, two halves of a whole. Letting her go all those years ago had been one of the most difficult things he'd ever done, and when she suddenly appeared on his radar again, when her soul burst back into the inter-dimensional plane, his heart had soared.

 

She was back. She was alive.

 

Speaking with her after her return had been such a comfort and there had been just enough of the old Avery there in her cerebral folds that he pushed away the concern about her fractured memories. He didn't worry about the mental scars and the hopelessness and the defeat he could sense flowing through her. He ignored the chaotic lack of control over her abilities. She was back.

 

But when she drugged him, manipulated him, ran right into the arms of harm's sweet embrace, he knew something had changed and not for the better. Avery had always been selfish and reckless, but not like this. This was different.

 

Her fractured psyche and melding of all her iterations had caused confusion. All of her motivations and desires were scrambled, and half of them were suffocating under all of the emotional and physical distress she was feeling from the weight of millions of iterations. He could sense the disorder from a mile away, and her actions were proof positive that her mind was warring with itself.

 

He remembered how she had wanted to flee the Winchesters in the first weeks with them. They had almost always avoided the Winchesters like the plague except for a few notable occasions, each of them ending poorly. But after meeting her on the side of the road after they'd made contact with Lucy, there was a longing and wistfulness to return to them that confused and made Thomas bristle. Why was she choosing them over him? Especially when she had been so eager to escape only days prior? What had changed?

 

Thomas looked around at the bar patrons next to him and sighed before finishing his drink, paying his tab, and leaving. The slightly damp air after a bracing winter rainstorm chilled him to the bone, and he clutched his jacket around him tightly as he passed an abandoned alley outside the pub.

 

One minute cold and slightly damp and then the next the air became stale and motionless like the air in a morgue.

 

"Mr. Slater, unfortunately, I can't say it's a pleasure to see you again," said a man dressed in all black standing underneath a street lamp. The light cast shadows on the hollows of his sunken cheeks.

 

Thomas felt his heart skip a beat. Oh no. It was never good when Death paid him a visit. The archetype of entropy didn't deign to interfere with the petty machinations of his subjects unless a severe misalignment of the fates had occurred. He could only guess why Death would come then. Actually, he had an excellent guess why Death had come knocking.

 

Thomas swallowed and swiped his sweaty palms against his pants legs, "Death, sir, I wasn't expecting you."

 

Death looked down his hawkish nose at him and clasped the head of his walking stick with both hands and his silver ring with the white gem on full display.

 

"You must know why I've come."

 

Thomas took a breath to steady himself and approached the king reaper cautiously, "Avery, I know. I told her—"

 

"It doesn't matter what you've told her. She's like a bull in a china shop, and it's time to put the animal down before the entire thing crumbles."

 

"No, please. I can get through to her. I just need more time." Thomas said, but Death looked unmoved. Well, Death always seemed unmoved. At the very peak of his emotional display, Thomas had only ever seen Death look mildly annoyed.

 

"I'm afraid, for her, time has run out," Death said and turned to leave just as quickly as he'd appeared.

 

"I'll do anything!" Thomas begged, "What—what if I can figure out a way for her to set things right and keep her from screwing stuff up in the future?"

 

Death stopped, and his walking stick came down with a dull thunk on the concrete, "And how would you manage that?"

 

"What if I got her to kill the prophet? That would put things right, wouldn't it? At least, it'd be a start, right?"

 

Death turned on his heel to face Thomas, "You know as well as I do that she won't do that. Not to mention that taking care of the prophet won't stop her from changing things in the future."

 

"Then I'll do it," Thomas said, and Death quirked an interested brow.

 

"Curious," was all Death offered.

 

Thomas moistened his dry lips again, "And if you could, if you want to of course, maybe block some of her memories just so that she won't even know to change anything? I mean, we could do it together. Create a new identity for her, and I'll watch her make sure she stays out of trouble…?"

 

Death blinked slowly, bored, "Why would I do that if reaping her would just make the problem go away?"

 

Thomas felt his stomach drop through the floor and almost fell to his knees to beg before he composed himself and whispered, "God wouldn't want that, sir, not that you're beholden to him or anything, just—" Slater exhaled shakily and watched his breath turn to mist in the cold air, "I would be indebted to you, anything you need. Please, I—I love her."

 

Death looked at him for a long moment before moving again, "Take care of the prophet, and I'll consider your request."

 

Thomas shook with relief; there was hope.

 

Death turned again to leave, "But do it quickly, my patience for you and yours is wearing thin."

 

"Yes, sir. Absolutely."

* * *

 

 

"Kevin isn't picking up his phone," I cursed, and Dean floored the accelerator. Sam sat fuming in the passenger seat as we zoomed closer and closer to the safe house we'd stuck Kevin in.

 

"Goddammit, I knew this would happen!"

 

"Sam not now," Dean growled under his breath but Sam continued.

 

"You know as well as I do that the angel went after him. If we don't get there before it does—"

 

"I said not now!" Dean yelled and Sam and I both jumped.

 

"Gadreel went after Kevin, and if something happens to that kid, it's on me. Don't you think I know that?"

 

"Dean—" I tried but he cut me off.

 

"Don't try to make this okay. It's not okay!" Dean glared at me through the rearview mirror and I put my hand on his shoulder.

 

Dean stiffened, "Dean…" I said again more softly, and he wilted under my touch, his shoulders sagging under the weight of his heavy conscience.

 

I caught Sam's gaze for a moment and I pulled my hand away from Dean. Suddenly I felt a wave of foreign desperation flow through me quickly followed by conviction. It made my skin cold, and I knew at that moment that something was going on with Thomas. Neither Sam or Dean noticed me stiffen and I relaxed into the back seat of the Impala before reaching out with my thoughts timidly.

 

Thomas? What happened?

 

The connection fizzled and faded away like a dream that you try to hold onto as you wake up. Before long it was gone, and I wondered to myself what could have prompted such a wanton display of emotion through our link. Tom was usually careful about not letting anything through. What had changed?

* * *

 

Gadreel sat at a bar and nursed the beer that his new vessel had ordered before he'd taken up residence. The man was devout, kind, ever willing to let him in, and now whimpering in pain and desperation as he fought the divine energy that threatened to snuff him out. Gadreel missed Anthony. Gadreel missed Sam. Both of them had been strong vessels capable of holding his power without exploding, but now he was effectively out on the streets. A tip from the male vessel, Thomas, had allowed him to escape Sam before Dean had gotten the opportunity to cast Gadreel out himself and probably imprison him in Anthony.

 

He'd known that it was only a matter of time before the brothers found him out, especially after he'd learned that the female vessel knew his true identity, but he'd still hoped to stay longer and gather more strength. If he was honest, he actually enjoyed the Winchesters, Sam particularly. He felt they were kindred. Both had made mistakes, huge mistakes, but ultimately wanted to make up for them. There was good inside of them, and they just needed the opportunity to show it.

 

A short, stout man with wild dark gray hair sat next to him and signaled the bartender with two fingers. Gadreel glanced at him for a moment and drank some more of his beer.

 

"What can I do you for?"

 

"Surprise me." The man waved at him and shifted slightly so that he could half face Gadreel.

 

"How are you?" He asked and Gadreel stopped.

 

"Excuse me?"

 

The man chuckled to himself, "Of course, how rude. I haven't introduced myself. I'm Metatron, scribe of the Lord."

 

Gadreel's eyes widened and Metatron smiled, "Oh don't worry, Gadreel, I'm not here to sell you out. In fact, you and I are in similar boats. Our brothers and sisters aren't to keen on me nowadays."

 

"You caused The Fall," Gadreel glared.

 

Metatron frowned, "Now now, none of that. I'm the reason you're free. Heaven was corrupt and I purged it."

 

"Many died," Gadreel reminded him and Metatron sighed.

 

"A necessary sacrifice. Listen, I've come here to give you an opportunity. A chance to redeem yourself and win back a place in heaven…"

 

Gadreel couldn't believe his ears. A second chance? Was he really getting a second chance? And if he was, how convenient for it to come at a time like this when he had no other options.

 

"A place," Metatron continued, "by my side."

 

"Why are you offering me this?" Gadreel asked. "After everything I've done, why—?"

 

"I'm low on friends at the moment," Metatron admitted and smiled at the bartender as he gave him his drink, "and what's one outcast to another, eh? You and me, we could do great things."

 

Metatron took a sip before running one finger around the rim of the glass.

 

"I would need your absolute and total devotion," Metatron's face took an intensity that made Gadreel uneasy, but this was his best chance at making a life for himself. His best chance to get home but this time as a hero, not a villain.

 

"I accept your offer and I am grateful," Gadreel said and Metatron grinned.

 

"Excellent, my first job for you is to kill the Winchesters.”

* * *

 

 

We arrived at the safe house at around two in the morning. All of the lights were off and the house seemed quiet. When we checked the door for forced entry, we found that it was still locked and secure. None of the windows were broken, and there was nothing to suspect that anything had happened at all.

 

Dean knocked on the door, "Kevin! Open up. It's us!"

 

Nothing.

 

Dean banged this time, "C' mon Kev! Open up!"

 

Light from inside flicked on and Dean sighed with relief. The door opened a fraction of an inch before closing again. The sounds of heavy locks disengaging and chains being undone sounded from inside before the door flew open to reveal the disheveled and sleep drunk Asian. His eyes were rimmed with dark circles, and I thought the I could see strands of prematurely grey hair dusting his otherwise black head.

 

"What are you guys doing here? It's the middle of the night."

 

Dean pushed past Kevin and checked the interior of the room with a quick look before turning to face him.

 

"You've got a hit out on you. It's time to move back to the bunker. Pack your crap."

 

Kevin blinked blearily, "Now?"

 

It was clear that he wasn't grasping that fact that he could have been assassinated. Dean looked at him with impatient disbelief and I sighed.

 

"C' mon Kev, I'll help." I took him by the hand and pulled him towards his room which was covered in sheaves of paper with symbols and notes scribbled all over them. The tablet was sitting on a small desk framed with more notes. I pulled his duffel bag out from under his bed and tossed it on top of it.

 

Kevin started pulling articles of clothing out of the tiny closet and grumbled, "Two in the fucking morning…"

 

I smirked and walked out of his room to let him pack in peace. Sam and Dean were arguing in hushed tones which abruptly stopped the second they saw that I'd returned.

 

Dean cleared his throat while Sam glowered at him, "How's Kevin doing?" Dean asked me.

 

I shrugged, "He's grumpy, sleep deprived, nothing new really. Do we really need to leave now that we're here?" I asked. "We could paint wards, you know, crash for tonight and leave in the morning. We're all fried."

 

Dean looked uneasy and turned to his brother who curled his lip and walked away towards Kevin's room.

 

I frowned, "What the hell was that?"

 

Dean sighed and rubbed his face tiredly. "It's nothing."

 

I snorted, "Like hell. Sam's still being a dick about you saving his ass. Is that it?"

 

Dean rolled his eyes at me, "Among other things…"

 

I felt my lungs constrict a little with shame, "Sorry about earlier. I didn't mean to… you know… get involved when I had no business—"

 

"Don't worry about it."

 

"But—"

 

"Avery," Dean stopped me with one raised hand, "I really don't want to talk about this anymore. Sam'll get over it. I'll get over it. Okay? We always do."

 

I pursed my lips and began to nod in defeat when we heard a loud clatter and a thunk come from over where Sam and Kevin were. Dean stiffened like a coiled rattlesnake and I glanced at him. It was nothing right? They'd just dropped something, right?

 

"Sam!" Dean tested. When there was no answer, he all but sprinted towards the open bedroom door and I followed close behind him.

 

Sam was in a crumpled heap on the floor and Kevin was on his knees with his mouth agape in a silent scream. Thomas's hand was planted firmly on Kevin's forehead and burning light poured out of the prophet's eyes, nose, and mouth.

 

"No!" I shrieked and tripped over Dean who had stopped to pull and aim his gun at Slater before shooting him twice. I pushed past him and yanked Thomas's hand away from Kevin but the damage was done, and the boy slumped over like a marionette whose strings had been abruptly cut. I bent to catch him as he fell, but two arms wrapped around me and held me tight, my arms pinned down and trapped. One of his arms came up and enclosed my neck in the crook of his elbow.

 

"Slater let her go now!" Dean said quietly. His voice was tight and hard. I struggled, and the arm tightened enough to choke which startled me, so I froze.

 

"Don't look for us." Thomas all but begged and Dean growled at him.

 

"Tom—?"

 

"LET HER GO!"

 

"She's dead if you do," Thomas promised.

 

One minute Dean was there, red, screaming, ready to shoot and the next, we were gone.

* * *

 

 

When I came to, I realized that both my legs and my arms were tied down and a strap of leather was between my teeth securing my head back to the head of the chair.

 

A panicked grunt huffed from behind my lips, and I yanked and pulled at the straps until my skin started to bruise. A door opened and flooded the previously black room with light, and I squinted at the shadow filling the frame of the doorway. It moved to the side into the darkness and another figure, this one taller and slightly hunched, took its place. A light clicked on, and the room brightened making my eyes finally snap shut entirely.

 

I could still see the light and it was red as it filtered through the thin skin of my eyelids. I could hear the two people move around silently around me and I forced myself to open my eyes despite the discomfort.

 

When I finally saw who was in the room with me, I stopped moving and fought the urge to faint. I was dizzy with panic, and my harsh breaths whistled through the leather in my mouth. Thomas stood in the back corner with his arms wrapped around his chest and his eyes downcast.

 

The other person, dressed in all black and white as a sheet stepped towards me, his cane hitting the concrete floor with dull thunks that echoed throughout the room and made my ears ring. Or maybe my ears were ringing from the blood rushing through my veins, my heart desperately pounding to get as many beats in before it was forcibly halted.

 

Death. He was coming for me, and there was nothing I could do to escape him.

 

A choked sob burst from my chest and I started to scream. Snot and tears ran down my face, and I turned to Thomas and begged with all of my might for him to save me. My gargled pleas didn't galvanize him into action. He just clutched himself tighter, and I saw tears run down his cheek and fall to his chest.

 

I didn't want to die. Maybe I did at one point but that time had come and gone, and the zeal to live sent tremors through my muscles and made them cramp as I yanked against my restraints. Thomas had sold me out to Death. Why? I had no idea. I'd changed some things but surely not enough to incur the wrath of the King of Reapers, right? And even if I had, why would Thomas be the one to hand me over?

 

I didn't have time to speculate and even if I did my adrenaline soaked brain wouldn't slow down enough for me to even spell my own name.

 

Death's palm came down on my forehead and my whole body stilled. I could feel the tension seep out of my muscles and I deflated like a balloon. My eyes started to get heavy and I felt so terribly sleepy.

 

The man in front of my stroked my cheek gently and I thought that was nice. I glanced lazily over to the corner were another man, this one quite attractive, was wringing his hands and looking very red and tearstained. I wondered why he was so anxious. Maybe the nice man in front of me still stroking my check could give him nice feelings too after he was done with me.

 

I tried to yawn, but I was too tired for even that. I closed my eyes but opened them again when I felt a flutter of panic in my chest. There was a reason I shouldn't fall asleep, but I couldn't remember why. The uneasiness faded and I closed my eyes.

* * *

 

 

Dean stared at the place Avery and Slater had been standing just moments before in shock. It had all happened so fast. One minute he and Avery were arguing like they always did and then the next, Kevin was being fried from the inside out and Slater had taken Avery and vanished. He remembered the expression on her face, the confusion, the grief.

 

Dean felt his knees go weak for a moment when his eyes landed on Kevin's husk of a corpse but straightened and bent to check on his brother.

 

"Sam! Wake up! Sam!"

 

Sam stirred drunkenly before shooting up and staggering unsteadily into the wall, "Slater—!" He saw Kevin and choked.

 

Sam looked at Dean before turning on his heel in search of Avery, no doubt. His shoulders slumped, and he knelt down next to Kevin when he couldn't find her. He placed trembling fingers on Kevin's chest before covering both eyes with his palms.

 

Dean fell back against the wall and slid down slowly. They were gone.

 

"FUCK!" Sam screamed. Dean watched his brother's shoulders start to shake and the fist around his heart clenched.

 

"FUCK!" Sam screamed again and knocked the lamp off the nightstand. Dean watched numbly as Sam pulled the same nightstand to the floor and then launched his fist into the plaster wall.

 

They were gone.

 

When Sam had tired himself out, he stopped and stared at Kevin again who looked very small to him all of a sudden. Sam bent slowly and picked him up before carrying him out of the room. Dean listened to his brother's heavy footsteps drag against the floor before disappearing entirely after the door to the house opened and closed behind him.

 

Dean continued to sit in silence and stared at the place were Kevin had died as he heard the Impala's engine rumble to life and then the wheels crunch on gravel as Sam drove away.

 

They were gone.

 

An hour passed, two hours, three. Dean stood up, his limbs stiff and his ass aching from sitting on the hard wooden floor. He went to the kitchen and pulled a bottle of moonshine out from one of the cabinets. A bottle he'd left there a long time ago back when Bobby was still alive and giving him hell for selling his soul.

 

The moonshine stung when the odor hit his nose, but he ignored it and drank enough that it hurt going down. Dean took off his jacket and kept drinking until the room was spinning and his stomach was doing flips.

 

Dean suddenly remembered that he'd never asked Avery why she'd told the doctors that they were married. He then felt very silly for snapping at her not once but twice because of how she'd stood up for him. Why did he do that?

 

Kevin was dead. He died. That had happened. But it wasn't his fault, was it? Gadreel hadn't been the one to come after him after all. It'd been Slater. He was right not to trust him and Avery was wrong.

 

He thought about this and felt unsurprised. Of course, he'd been right. He knew from the very beginning but Avery didn't listen.

 

Dean swallowed another mouthful of moonshine. He shouldn't have let Avery ask Slater for help with Sam. That's what had tipped him off in the first place. Why didn't he put his foot down? Why didn't he do what he usually did and cut her down? Push her out of the decision making process? Was it because she knew what was going to happen before he did? Was he wrong to trust her judgment?

 

Dean drank more because he knew that that wasn't it. He had never trusted her judgment. He knew the real reason for why he'd tolerated Slater. Knowing why made him more nauseous than all of the alcohol he'd consumed because now she was gone and there was fuck all he could do about it.

 

Dean gave a damn about Avery and that had softened his resolve when it came to her. But now they were gone.

 

Kevin was dead and Avery was gone.

 

Dean's stomach turned and he threw up into the sink next to him.

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	20. 3 Months Later

“Allison! Stop screwing around. You’ve got a table, party of three.” 

 

Ally smiled at her boss, Jeff, and stowed her phone in her back pocket. She’d been working at the grill for almost a month now and no matter how much she pissed her boss off, she knew he would never fire her. He’d had a soft spot for her ever since they’d met. Erica, his sister and co-owner, swore that it was because she reminded him of his daughter who’d moved to California to start her acting career. 

 

“The old coot misses her,” Erica shrugged and smiled fondly. “But don’t think that if I catch you slacking off, I won’t write you up.” 

 

Ally was sure that Erica felt the same way Jeff did so the threat landed like a feather. The two fifty-year-old siblings had become her de facto parents ever since she’d moved to Leiper’s Fork. It was a teeny tiny town outside Nashville, Tennessee. There couldn't have been more than 700 people in the whole town, well, village really. Town felt like too big a place to describe Leiper’s. 

 

Anyway, ever since Ally had dropped out of college and moved down to that teeny tiny little village, Jeff and Erica had taken her in, given her a job, and made sure she stayed out of trouble. They made sure to warn her off the local men,

 

“Everyone knows everyone here, darlin’. You don’t shit where you eat.”

 

So she made sure to hook up with the people who were only stopping by. Working at one of the only restaurants around provided her with more than enough out-of-towners to choose from. One, in particular, had caught her interest in more than just the usual capacity. One night had turned to two, then three, then four. He’d been there almost as long as she had by then and she sometimes wondered if his stay had been extended because of her. 

 

It was almost too much at times. His affection was smothering and the easy devotion he sometimes hinted at made her squirm. She wasn’t looking for a boyfriend. She was looking for sex. She didn’t think that Tom was ready for just sex. He wanted more.

 

Allison shrugged as she picked up three menus and headed over to her table for three. She’d wean him off gently. Before he knew it, she’d have him out the door and he wouldn’t have even seen it coming. 

 

It was a shame, really. He was cute. 

 

As if he’d known she was thinking about him, Tom walked into the restaurant and shot her a mischievous smirk that warmed her belly. Her heart fluttered and she cocked her head, smiling back. 

 

She could always ‘break up’ with him tomorrow. 

 

“Hey,” He smirked and ruffled his hair with one hand.

 

She smiled back, “Hey.”

 

“You busy?” He glanced down at the menus in my hand and Jeff cleared his throat behind her. 

 

“Aren’t I always?” She walked away as Tom took a seat at the bar and waited until she was done handing the group their menus and taking drink orders. When she got back, Tom was nursing a vodka club and chatting easily with the bartender Laura. 

 

“He always this chatty?” Laura quipped while she ran a rag over the polished wood. 

 

“Unfortunately.” She ran the back of her fingers over his stubbled cheek and he smiled widely.

 

Ally waited on her last table of the night while enduring the looks and longing glances Tom shot her from the bar. When her shift was over Tom downed the rest of his drink and met her outside the restaurant. He pulled her into his arms for a brief and hungry kiss that warmed her from the tips of her toes to the flushed skin on her neck.

 

“Wow, somebody missed me,” She grinned against his lips and he chuckled. 

 

“Don’t flatter yourself,” He teased. “There’s nothing else to do in this godforsaken town.”

 

She cocked an eyebrow at him knowing better than to take offense, “If it’s so godforsaken then why haven't you left?” 

 

“Jeez,” He mocked and held her closer, “There’s this infuriating little blonde that I just can’t shake loose.”

 

“Oh really? You should introduce me sometime.”

 

“I don’t know. She’s kind of a bitch. But she’s really hot and funny, so I ignore it.”

 

“Sounds like my type of gal.”

 

Tom smiled at her like his heart was three times too big. 

 

“Wanna go fool around at the park?”

 

Ally shook her head and giggled, “You’re twelve years old.”

 

Tom’s smile softened infinitesimally and Ally swallowed. 

 

“You know you love me,” Tom insisted and Ally kissed him so that he would stop saying stupid things that made her regret ever getting involved with him. She really was going to have to kick him to the curb, wasn’t she?

 

Ally, again, lamented what a shame that would be. Tom was cute, sweet, funny, and devoted. Everything that a girl could ever want and yet Ally was so so so not interested. Ever since she’d essentially run away from home, the idea of sticking with someone in any kind of permanent way made her skin crawl. The urge to run and keep running had only been minimally quashed by her lack of funds to move anywhere else than where she was now. 

 

She liked working at the grill and having sex with Tom. She liked Jeff and Erica and their pseudo parental concern. But Ally knew that the time to move on was coming fast and couldn’t help but feel relieved. Something was calling her and Ally knew that the restlessness she felt wouldn’t disappear until she found it. 

 

“Let’s get out of here, you clown.” Ally rolled her eyes and let Tom hold her hand as they walked to his car. It wouldn’t hurt to indulge him for just a little bit longer. Well, it wouldn’t hurt _her._

 

* * *

 

 

Castiel was back and juiced up. Unbeknownst to the Winchesters, he’d been held captive and escaped and held captive again and again by a variety of militant guerrilla angel factions before finally escaping for the final time by stealing and eating one of his captors’ grace.

 

When he returned to the bunker, it was empty. 

 

That usually wasn’t an issue. The Winchesters were almost always hunting so to have it empty wasn’t so shocking except that there was a fine layer of dust starting to accumulate on every exposed surface. The air was stale which hinted that their absence had been much longer than what was typical. 

 

Castiel stood silently and stared at the empty room for a moment before taking a deep breath, opening his wings, and landing just outside a dive bar in Kentucky. One cursory glance around the parking lot and a breath later, he pushed through the doors and made his way towards a stained bar top littered with beaten down drunks. Lined faces and drooping shoulders occupied every other corner of the bar but there was only one set of drooping shoulders that mattered to him.

 

“Dean,” Cas muttered.

 

Dean Winchester stiffened and turned in his seat with surprise and relief. 

 

“Cas, holy crap. Where have you been, man?” 

 

“It’s a long story.”

 

A bitter laugh and a sad almost smile, “I got time. All the time in the world.” An empty glass struck the bar and the man behind it quickly filled it to the brim. 

 

“Where is Sam…” Castiel looked around the room again, “And Avery, they aren’t with you?”

 

“Avery?” Dean frowned and lingered on the name as if he’d forgotten what it felt like to say it. “Avery, Avery is gone.”

 

“Gone?”

 

“Gone. Sam’s somewhere in Tennessee, I think. I haven’t spoken to him in weeks.”

 

“Dean, what happened?” Cas asked. 

 

“Slater happened. He came, killed Kevin—”

 

“Kevin’s dead!”

 

Dean flinched so violently that whiskey spilled over the sides of his glass and onto his hand. He rubbed his eyes hard with his thumb and forefinger before looking back at Cas.

 

“He took her. He killed him and took her and it’s my fault. Sam can’t even look at me after what I did. I tried finding her, but it’s like she fell off the face of the earth. I don’t know if she’s even alive, Cas.” He said this all in one breath and when he finished, seemed almost winded. 

 

Cas lowered himself on the stool next to Dean slowly. He couldn’t believe what had happened. 

 

“We have to get Sam and go looking for her,” He insisted.

 

Dean’s lips thinned, “I tried Cas. She’s gone. And Sam doesn’t want anything to do with me anyway.” He finished his drink and tried to stand but crashed into the bar top when his feet hit the ground. Cas scrambled out of his seat to help Dean from collapsing completely.

 

“I’m fine!” Dean snapped and shoved Cas away. His unrolled sleeve rode up exposing the angry brand on the inside of his forearm. Cas yanked Dean’s hand towards him despite Dean’s protests and stared at The Mark. 

 

“Dean….what have you done?” Cas’s voice shook and his hand tightened almost painfully around Dean’s wrist. 

 

“What have you done!” Cas yelled.

 

“Get off of me,” Dean hissed and stumbled back drunkly. 

 

“Damn it, Dean!” 

 

“It’s a means to an end, Cas. Last I checked, you’re pretty familiar with those!” He snapped.

 

Cas stared at Dean and Dean stared back before sighing and rubbing his eyes again.

 

“Cas, man. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…”

 

“Forget it. We have to go find your brother and rescue the vessel.” 

 

Dean gaped at him, “How?”

 

The shadow of Castiel’s damaged wings unfurled and the lights in the bar flickered, “This is how.”

 

* * *

 

Ally listened to Tom’s even breathing next to her as she stared up at the ceiling of his apartment. His naked body was pressed against her back and his arm was loosely draped over her waist. She didn’t like staying over after they fucked, but whenever she left he got this sad, wistful disappointed look that reminded her how shitty it was to ditch someone after sex. Especially when they’d been having sex for almost two months. 

 

In an hour the sun would come up and she’d be able to use the excuse of wanting to go home to shower and change before she helped Jeff pick up supplies for the grill. She wagered that she’d be able to catch a few hours of sleep before then. 

 

Today after work she’d give her two weeks notice and after that, she’d board the greyhound that would take her to California. She’d bought the ticket two days ago and honestly, the date of her departure couldn’t come soon enough. It was finally time to move on. 

 

Tom shifted behind her and Ally sighed when the tempo of his breath started to change. He was waking up. Warm lips touched her shoulder gently and she could feel them pull up in a smile.

 

“Morning,”

 

“Hey,” She offered quietly and turned to face him. He pulled her closer and she smirked at him.

 

“Well, good morning to you too…”

 

“We could always make it a better morning.” 

 

Ally dragged her nails against his chest lightly and Tom’s breath caught in his throat. “Not if I want to help Jeff today.”

 

She jumped out of bed gracefully and Tom groaned, “You bitch.” 

 

She blew him a kiss and started pulling her clothes on, “Have you seen my—“

 

Tom held up her panties playfully and, when she went to grab them, pulled away.

 

“You bitch,” Ally scoffed before pulling on her pants in defiance. She was ready to go in under two minutes flat, Thomas watching her all the while.

 

“I’ll see you after work?”

 

“Can’t, I’m going out with Laura,” She explained. 

 

“Shame,” He shrugged, “kiss me.”

 

Ally climbed onto the bed and then his lap before twinning her fingers in his hair roughly. She kissed him with all of the hunger he desired and then left reveling in the fact that he wouldn’t be able to think straight for at least the next two hours because of her. 

 

The walk home to her apartment wasn’t long but the winter chill made her walk all the more quickly. Leiper’s Fork was completed abandoned at that time of day. The silence was almost deafening so to hear the rumbling growl of a car pull up on the other side of town was unsettling, to say the least. She never got a chance to see the offending vehicle but knew that if the visitor was staying any longer then just passing through the town, she would meet him at the grill later in the day. 

 

After bathing, changing, and feeding her cat Jim, she trekked over to the liquor store to meet Jeff who was already loading kegs of beer into his Ford pickup. 

 

“It’s about damn time,” He grumbled. “Get the vodka if you please.”

 

“Aye, aye captain,” She saluted and waltzed over to the back. Stephen Raime, the proprietor of the only liquor vending establishment in all of Leiper’s, liked to have his bulk customers pick up their purchases before the steady stream of deadbeats and alcoholics came to pick up their poison of the week. The ex-Mormon could handle the day to day sale of moderate alcohol purchases but the profoundly ingrained shame of liquor was enough to have him sell the more indecent amounts in the wee hours of the morning, so no one needed to lay eyes on his impropriety.

 

“Hiya, Steve,” Ally chirped and picked up the box of Tito’s.

 

Stephen grunted at her and checked a box off his inventory. For whatever reason, the occupants of Leiper’s were either perpetual grumps wasting away in bum fuck nowhere or young runaways, like herself, looking for a place to hide until greener pastures presented themselves. Ally wagered that enough of the runaways ended up never finding the opportunity and thus became the aforementioned grumps. In any case, Ally was among friends. 

 

The Ford was packed up in under an hour and, when they arrived at the grill, the unloading was finished in half the time. Jeff sent her away with the expectation of her return hours later for her shift and Ally wandered to the park to read and kill time. Ally was in a constant state of almost finishing _The Screwtape Letters_ and she was determined to try and finish it before she left Leiper’s. Her favorite place to tackle the Sisyphean feat was on the only swing left in the park. The other three had been ripped down, the empty chains swinging lazily in the breeze. 

 

_Indeed the safest road to Hell is the gradual one--the gentle slope, soft underfoot, without sudden turnings, without milestones, without signposts…_

 

“Your affectionate uncle, Screwtape…” Ally muttered and smiled. 

 

“Excellent choice.”

 

Ally started and looked up at her new companion. A very slight brunette girl with brilliant, almost alarmingly so, green eyes cocked her head. 

 

“Uh yeah, I like it,” Ally offered. 

 

“ _Abolition of Man_ is my favorite,” The girl continued,“You can’t go on ‘seeing through’ things forever. The whole point of seeing through something is to see something through it. To ‘see through’ all things is the same as not to see.” 

 

“Right.”

 

The girl smiled and held out her hand, “Name’s Sadie.”

 

Ally shook her hand, “Ally. I don’t think I’ve seen you around here before.”

 

“Yeah, I just got in. I’m actually looking for someone.”

 

“Oh?” Ally frowned. It wasn’t uncommon to have people show up on Leiper’s doorstep looking for a missing loved one or a missing not-so-loved one. “I’m pretty familiar with the people around here. Maybe I can help?”

 

She laughed, “Probably, but I think I’ll manage on my own.”

 

Ally frowned again, “Have we met before?”

 

Sadie took a step forward, kissed her on the cheek, and then leapt back quickly, “In another life maybe, but not this one. See ya!” 

 

Sadie turned and walked away before Ally could so much as absorb what had just happened. The place that Sadie’s lips had touched her face tingled with warmth and she pressed her cool fingers to her skin in disbelief. 

 

“What the fuck?”

 

* * *

 

Thomas was flitting from lacunae to lacunae he’d created filled with magical warding that made the spherical forcefield essentially cutting Leiper’s Fork off from the rest of the world. The only things that could get into the town where things he allowed through. Every day he checked them to make sure they weren’t damaged and that the protections remained. Nothing had even attempted to breach the defenses in almost three months, so it was a nasty shock when he found the lacunae nearest Avery’s apartment destroyed. He could sense that Avery wasn’t home, so he decided to investigate.

 

If Avery, or Ally rather, knew he could come and go from her apartment as he pleased, she would be less than happy. But, what she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her. In fact, there was a lot of things that if she did know would absolutely hurt her. 

 

Her room seemed undisturbed by anything or anyone that wasn’t Avery. For whatever reason, this iteration seemed to be unapologetically messy. Weeks of dirty laundry were piled around, her bed was unmade, and a small army of empty mugs and cups seemed to be accumulating on any available surface. Her bathroom was as equally messy. When he finally got to her kitchen/living room, he found something, or rather someone, that absolutely, completely, and utterly didn’t belong. 

 

“What are you doing here, Sadie?” 

 

Sadie closed the distance between them and straightened Slater’s collar, “Tom. Tom Tom Tom. You didn’t think I’d let this slide, hmm?” 

 

He pushed her hands away, “What. Are. You. Doing. Here?” 

 

“This is pretty rapey, even for you,” She continued. 

 

Tom sneered, “I didn’t give her memories of loving me. She did that all by herself.” 

 

Sadie laughed, “That’s cute. You think she loves you.”

 

Tom didn’t need this. He didn’t need to listen to her try and break down everything he knew to be true. Avery loved him. The way she looked at him when he walked into the room. Fuck, even the way they had sex proved how much she loved him. Before, it was good but fast and impersonal. Now, now it was slow and soft and sweet. She kissed his jaw and held him like it hurt to let go. 

 

“You don’t know anything,” He spat. 

 

Sadie rolled her eyes, “I spoke to Him.” 

 

“…What?” Tom paled. “That’s not— He hasn’t since…”

 

Sadie bent to stroke the cat that had leapt off its perch and started rubbing up next to her leg, “He’s got plans for her so don’t be surprised when she leaves.”

 

“No,” Tom growled, “I did this with Death’s help. He’s in bigger cahoots with Him then you’ll ever be. So don’t tell me that this his plan because it can’t be!” 

 

Sadie stood, “That’s silly and you know it. Don't you think God might’ve given Death the okay? You know how He is. He does whatever the fuck he wants whenever the fuck he wants.”

 

Tom glared, “Get out of here and don’t come back. We’ve got a good life here.” Tom’s brows pulled up, “Please,” He begged, “she… we love each other. We always have and it’s been so long… we haven’t been able to… please.” 

 

Sadie looked sad for the first time since she’d arrived, “I’m sorry Tom. I really am… the Winchesters are here.”

 

Tom cursed. 

 

“How! How are they here? I hid her. I—“ Tom’s face went slack. “You brought them here, you bitch.” 

 

Sadie smirked, “They brought themselves, but you know I didn’t stop them from coming.” 

 

“Fuck!” 

 

Sadie smirked again, “Fuck is right.” 

 

Tom rubbed his eyes and started pacing. If God was manipulating events, there would be little he could do to stop him. But, that wouldn’t keep Tom from trying. He would have to get her to leave Leiper’s Fork. He didn’t know how but he’d convince her, one way or another, to come with him.

 

“She won’t leave with you.”

 

Tom glared at her and pushed Sadie out of his head, “You don’t know that.”

 

“Why not? I was friends with her first. I know her better than you do.”

 

“You say that but I dated her for hundreds of years. And where were you? Off gallivanting with vampires,” Tom clenched his fists, “She. Loves. _Me_.” He insisted. 

 

“The Winchesters are here” Sadie repeated, “When they find her they sure as hell aren’t going to just let her leave, especially not with you.”

 

“They can’t keep her safe.”

 

Sadie frowned, “And you can?” 

 

* * *

 

 

“How can you be sure she’s here, Cas?” Sam asked as they made another loop around the town. 

 

“Vessels have a specific celestial frequency, a loud one. It’s actually a miracle no one else has descended upon their location yet. By my count,” Cas closed his eyes and breathed through his nose, “there are three here.”

 

“Three?” Dean repeated, “There’s more than just Slater and Avery?” 

 

“There are only ever three in existence,” Cas nodded. “For them to all be in one place and one time is very unusual.”

 

Sam exhaled, “Three, huh? Kind of like the holy trinity.” 

 

“Exactly like the Trinity,” Cas said. 

 

“So we know Avery’s one,” Dean started ticking off fingers, “and Slater is one. Who’s the third?”

 

“I don’t know,” Cas admitted. “And I’m afraid I won’t be able to stay and find out.”

 

Sam and Dean turned to look at Cas in dismay.

 

“But, you just got back,” Dean said. 

 

“I have responsibilities, Dean,” Cas sighed. “It’s my fault that heaven is in ruins. It was my grace Metatron used to cast the angels out. I have to find him and make things right. My brethren are counting on me.” 

 

“We understand,” Sam smiled sadly. “Don’t be a stranger, Cas.”

 

“Do you need help finding a ride?” Dean asked him but Cas shook his head.

 

“I learned many things while I was human. I think I’ll be able to handle it on my own. Stay safe.”

 

Cas walked away back towards the main road and Sam and Dean watched him go for a moment before heading back to the inn they’d checked into early that morning. 

 

“We should probably start making rounds, see if anyone’s heard of Avery,” Dean tried and Sam refused to meet his brother’s gaze.

 

“I don’t know if we wanna tip off Slater that we’re here. He might have eyes and ears all over town.” 

 

“You have a better plan?” Dean scowled. 

 

Sam pursed his lips with annoyance, “This is a small town and it’s a Friday. I bet if we wait till it’s dark out, everyone will be heading to wherever’s most popular to grab a drink. The likelihood that a twenty-something single female will be out drinking with her friends is pretty high. Until then we should lay low and plan for contingencies. That plan good enough for you?”

 

Dean clenched his jaw and shook his head, “Good to see you again too, brother.”

 

“Oh please,” Sam rolled his eyes. 

 

“Did you think that maybe picking up the phone and letting me know if you were okay might have been a good idea? I’ve heard what you’ve been up to. Looking for the blade without me makes a whole lot of sense, right Sammy?”

 

“I’m sorry if I needed time away from you but that doesn’t mean I’m going to stop moving forward. Like Cas said, we’ve got responsibilities. I’m not gonna forget about them because of the shit you’ve pulled. That doesn’t mean I want to still hunt with you.” Sam yanked the door of their room open and tossed the keys on his bed before rifling through his duffel bag. 

 

“This crap’s dangerous. You should have had backup.” Dean insisted before unscrewing a flask and taking a deep drink. 

 

“We’re big boys now, Dean. I think we can both handle ourselves,” Sam looked up from his bag to stare at his pacing brother, “and if you really can’t sit still until tonight, go and take a lap around town. I can’t think with you fidgeting all day.” 

 

Dean’s face fell infinitesimally and only the slightest hint of pain flickered across his eyes, “Yeah, I think I’ll do that.” He took the keys and his flask with him. Dean was just so exhausted. Dean hadn't felt this tired in such a long time. He didn’t have Cas, he didn’t have Sam, he didn’t have Kevin, and even though he hated to admit it, and even though he knew that she was within a mile radius of him, he didn’t have Avery. 

 

This kind of loneliness took a toll. A price that sapped the energy away from him. What was the point of all this crap if he didn’t have family?

 

And with that lovely thought, he wandered around Leiper’s Fork with a quickly emptying flask of whiskey.

 

He didn’t know what he was going to say to her or how she would react when they found her. Would she be pleased? Would she fall over herself at having been found ready to leave with them? Or would she be reluctant? Would she want to stay with the man who knew her better than any of them did and probably ever could? What if he found her and she told him to leave and let her live her life? 

 

And worse, the one question Dean couldn’t help but agonize over despite his bis efforts not to, what if she could have found her way back to them but never even tried? Even with the death of Kevin, what if she decided that her allegiance lay not with them, but with Slater?

 

He was half expecting this last possibility, his greatest fear, to come true. And if it was true, would she hate them all the more, would she hate _him,_ when he killed Slater?

He hadn’t told Cas and he hadn’t told Sam, although he doubted his brother would object, that he planned to kill Slater the second he laid eyes on him. Killing Kevin was the straw that broke the camel’s back. Slater was beyond redemption or forgiveness and he would kill him if it was the last thing he did. 

 

The last drop of whiskey hit his tongue and Dean sighed. All good things came to an end, one way or another. At least running out of booze was on the less violent side of the spectrum. Dean was usually never so lucky. 

 

Dean acknowledged his surroundings for the first time since he’d left the inn and realized he was in a decrepit park. The same park, although he didn’t know this, that Avery had occupied moments earlier. He sat on the same swing she’d sat in and waited. Waited until the sun started to sink in the sky. Waited until the last of the buzz he’d managed to build up left him completely. 

 

When he finally stood again his muscles were stiff with cold and the emptiness he felt ever present in his chest. The walk back to the inn was much shorter than the walk that took him away earlier in the day. 

 

Sam was clicking away at his computer, no doubt sifting through the scanned pages of Men of Letters research that might help him lock onto the First Blade’s location. Crowley had dragged the entire Atlantic and Pacific oceans in search of the weapon with no luck. Wherever Cain had left the blade, it was no longer there. Someone had found it before they had. The only problem now was to find out who. 

 

“Any luck?” Dean asked and Sam tore his gaze away from the monitor for a second before turning back.

 

“Maybe…”

 

Maybe. That was better than nothing. That was _much_ better than nothing. After so much nothing for so long, Dean would take maybe in a heartbeat. 

 

“Really? What?” Dean couldn’t subdue his excitement. 

 

“Well according to Crowley, the last known person to have the blade was a member of the Men of Letters. I checked through all of the records but every active member before Abbadon burned the place to the ground, is dead.” Sam told him.

 

“How’s that any help? If the guy we’re looking for is dead, then we might never find it!” Dean huffed.

 

Sam rolled his eyes, “I wasn’t done. Every _active_ member is dead, but, there was one member who got thrown out for, and these are leadership’s words, “eccentric” and “irresponsible” experiments. He was Master of Spells and was responsible for most of the warding that keeps the bunker safe.”

 

“And you think this might be our guy?” Dean asked.

 

Sam shrugged, “Like I said, maybe.”

 

“How do we find him?”

 

Sam sighed and leaned back in his chair, “Crowley got us this far. He might have some mojo or a spell that could get us the rest of the way there.”

 

Dean nodded, “This is good. Great, even. Nice job, Sammy.”

 

Sam paused before nodding back reluctantly. To be honest, he wasn’t thrilled with Dean’s choice to take The Mark or go after The Blade. From the research he was able to do, both things were bad news and Dean like he always had, jumped head first into it. If Sam had voiced his concern, he knew his brother would bite back with, “What do you care?” 

 

Dean was still Sam’s brother, and although he had only teamed back up with him under the stipulation that this was just work, and the rather biting remark that he wasn’t ready to be brothers yet, it was true. But he couldn’t say that. Dean had a lesson to learn. He couldn’t keep using ‘family’ to fix his mistakes or justify them. So, for now, at least, Sam would hold his tongue. 

 

“You ready to go?” Sam asked.

 

“I’ve been ready all day, Sammy.”

 

Sam stood and shrugged on his jacket, “Don’t call me that.”

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
